


The King and She

by Glassdarkly



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst and Humor, Crack, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Post-Series, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdarkly/pseuds/Glassdarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after <i>Chosen/Not Fade Away</i>, Buffy contacts Spike for the first time since she saw him go up in flames. Needs must when there's another apocalypse, on the way, right, even if he does seem to have changed out of all recognition? </p><p>And Spike's not the only thing that's changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Begun to fill a prompt on the Livejournal community SB_Fag_Ends, which was 'What if Giles got in contact with Spike on Buffy's behalf ten years on.' After that, I just let the story take me where it wanted and posted the complete fic as my entry to the auturmn 2013 round on the LJ community Seasonal Spuffy.
> 
> Setting: Place-wise, London. Timewise, bit indeterminate, actually. I got confused and forgot that ten years after Chosen is...well, now. 2013. So there are some things that might seem puzzling, like Buffy wearing shoes designed not by Jimmie Choo, but by his daughter Emily etc. Oh, just go with it.

"It's done." Giles put down the phone. 

"He'll meet with me?"

Buffy felt a pang of...she wasn't sure what. Just that it was a pang. Then she caught sight of the expression on Giles's face. 

"Giles? Are you okay?"

Giles had gone all tight-lipped, stern ex-Watcher, something that rarely happened these days. 

Buffy frowned. "What the _hell_ did he say to you?"

For answer, Giles took off his glasses and began to polish them. 

Buffy refrained - just about - from toe-tapping while she waited. Instead, she reminded herself sternly that Giles was nearly seventy now, and had spent half a lifetime being hit over the head multiple times in the line of duty. He'd earned his crankiness long ago. As long as....

"Giles?" she tried again. "That's not your I'm-secretly-planning-to-kill-Spike-for-Buffy's-own-good-again face, is it? Cuz we talked about that, remember, and decided it would only make things worse." 

Giles put his glasses back on. He'd gotten more short-sighted recently and he peered at her, as if to make sure she was really her.

The thought reminded her - as if she needed reminding - that she'd turned thirty-two not so long ago. 

_You're no spring chicken yourself these days, Summers, whereas he..._

Soul or not, Spike was still a vampire. An immortal, forever young vampire. When they met again for the first time in ten years - which delay was totally his fault, first for chickening out of coming to her in Rome, then for turning - well, not evil, but sort of demi-evil -he'd damn well better not act like he was sorry for her, that's all. 

"I'm fine, Buffy," Giles said, rather stiffly. "Yes, he'll meet with you, and as for what he said to me, don't let it concern you. Spike and I are not friends. We never will be. In fact -" he sighed - "it appears he still knows exactly what to say to get my back up even after all these years. Extraordinary really."

Another pang, and this time Buffy recognised it for what it was. Guilt. Poor Giles!

"Sorry if he was an asshole to you, Giles. Guess it's kind of the thing he's best at. I knew I should've made the damn phone call myself." 

Giles patted her on the shoulder. "It's all right, Buffy. I perfectly understand your reluctance. How many years has it been?"

"Ten," Buffy answered, at once. "Well," she qualified, "give or take. I mean, who's counting, right?" 

Giles's eyes in their wrinkled folds were kindly. He didn't say, _Well, you are._

Instead, he cleared his throat and turned businesslike. 

"The meeting's set for tomorrow night. I expected Spike to make conditions, or at least to baulk at you bringing an escort. But he appeared indifferent either way. Consequently, I suggest you take a large contingent of Slayers with you."

"No." Buffy shook her head. "That's not how this is going down." She grimaced. "Much though I hate to say it, we need him and we can't afford to antagonise him. I'm going alone."

Giles frowned. "Please reconsider, Buffy. Vampires are impressed by shows of strength. Best to give them one."

Buffy shook her head again. "There's only one vampire I care to make an impression on - " and that sounded kind of dirty, which she hadn't meant at all. She felt herself blushing as she continued. "And I know for certain the greater the odds the more he'll be spoiling for a fight. I wanna keep this low key, Giles - peaceful. The fewer trigger-happy bitty Slayers there are for him to preen in front of, the more likely that is to happen."

Giles was still frowning, but Buffy could see him weighing up her words and finding they had merit. 

"I'll accompany you, then," Giles said. "Given our conversation, it appears Spike has only contempt for me these days, so there's unlikely to be any showing off on my account."

Buffy opened her mouth to refuse. Giles was supposed to be retired - not that he seemed to have realised it. But Willow was on sabbatical in another dimension, and she'd taken Dawn along with. That left only Xander to take care of the Slayer School in her absence, and Xander and Spike? Or Xander and any vampire?

Well, they still weren't mix-y things.

Besides, she'd need someone to drive her, since she'd gotten herself banned for the second time. All this to-ing and fro-ing across the Atlantic played havoc with your road sense.

Well, that was her excuse anyway.

"Okay," she said. "But you'd better stay in the car." _Where you'll be safe_. "Then, if there's any sign of trouble, I can jump in quick and you can hightail it out of there."

Giles blinked. "I fear it's very unlikely I'll find street parking outside the Walsingham."

"The Walsingham?" Buffy stared at him, uncomprehending. "That's a pub, right?"

It would be just like Spike - well, just like the Spike she'd known years ago - to insist their first meeting after so long take place in a pub. She would probably have to shout to make herself heard.

Or maybe - even worse - it was some demon bar? They still allowed smoking in those. Probably in the hope that demons would kill themselves off that bit quicker.

Giles shook his head. "The Walsingham's not a pub. It's a very high end, very discreet, London hotel. So discreet, in fact, that they say if you haven't heard of it, you can't afford to stay there."

He looked embarrassed suddenly. "You might need to go shopping, Buffy. Spike told me to say.....well, his exact words were, 'tell the Slayer to dress posh.'"

"Oh," Buffy stared at him. That didn't sound like a Spike place at all.  
After a moment, she felt her jaw drop. "You mean..."

"Yes." Giles nodded. "Contrary to what I thought, it would appear that when Spike calls himself king of the vampires, it's not an idle boast. He means it. Literally."

*

"You look..."

_Like a really short James Bond, whose had an accident with a bleach bottle? Noo, better not say that._

"...well," Buffy said, into the too-long silence.

Spike turned, holding out a glass to her. He raised an eyebrow, as if he'd heard the silent comment, but all he said was, "Champagne?"

With an heroic effort, Buffy refrained from staring too hard at the label on the champagne bottle - _but like, woah! Seriously?_ -and crossed the room towards him. 

The carpet was so soft that her feet, in their brand new Emily Choos (salary advance), sank into it up to the ankles. 

"Thanks." She took the glass from him, narrowly avoiding touching his fingers, and stood holding it, feeling awkward and out of place, and like her new Liu Lu Jing dress (another salary advance) was tight in all the wrong places. 

It didn't help that he seemed so at ease. Like he wore a tux every day.

And who knew? Maybe he did.

When had Spike gotten suave? Did it come along with the title?

Speaking of which...

"So, king of the vampires, huh? How did that happen?"

He smiled, except for his eyes which were kind of un-Spike-like and opaque. "Long story." 

Gesturing towards the couch, he said, "Have a seat, Slayer. Might as well be comfortable while we talk."

"Sure." 

_Talk, yes. Talk would be good. Keep your mind on business, Summers. That's what you're here for._

But it still gave her the wiggins to have to precede him. What was he doing back where she couldn't see? Checking out her ass maybe, to see how it compared with ten years ago? 

Which it totally could, because she put herself through hell every day to keep in shape. But he might not think so. 

_And damnit, why do you care what he thinks?_

The couch was comfortable, if a little over-stuffed. Discreet the exterior of this place might be (though weirdly too big on the inside, which Giles said was due to something called the Tardis Effect), but the decor was kind of.... rococo? Was that the word?

"So, what do you think of the Walsingham?" Spike asked, suddenly, as if he'd read her thoughts again. 

She frowned. Could he do that now?

"It's...kind of hinky?" she ventured. "I'm glad just to have found the place. Our cab driver hadn't heard of it. He had to ask another cab driver, and he hadn't heard of it either, so he had to call a third cab driver - some retired guy from way back - who gave us directions." 

"Well, you can't be too careful, can you?" Spike remarked, cryptically, then did a sort of slow blink and raised his glass. "To old acquaintances and new alliances."

Buffy had clinked her own glass against his and taken a sip before two things registered. First, _oh my God, this champagne is incredible!_ and second, _oh my God, he was making polite small talk!_

She was wrong. Ten years _had_ changed him. Maybe even more than they'd changed her.

She took a deep breath. Time to take charge of this conversation before it weirded her out completely.

Setting the champagne glass down on the ornate side table, she said, 

"Thanks for meeting me, Spike. I appreciate it."

It sounded false, even to her, but she met his gaze full-on, daring him to challenge her on her sincerity. 

He just did the slow, blue blink again. "My pleasure, Slayer. You look lovelier than ever, by the way. Forgive me for not saying so before."

Somehow or other, she stopped herself from yelling, "Will you _stop_ that?" in his face. For one thing, there was Giles to consider.

Well, okay, Giles had looked happy enough to wait for her in the Walsingham library, which was full of real, actual books, not to mention a whisky tumbler and a bottle of something called Dalmore 1951, which was 'a gift from his majesty', so the hench-vamp said.

Giles had sort of snorted, then growled, "His majesty? What nonsense!" But it hadn't stopped him opening the bottle. 

So no, she did not want to have to fight her way out of here, past said hench-vamps, with a possibly drunk Giles in tow. 

Then, of course, there was that pesky apocalypse.

Forcing a smile onto her face, she said, "Don't mention it."

He blinked again, like a sleepy lion ( a very small one). "What can I do for you?"

She'd rehearsed her speech before coming here, but it had relied on there being....well, something still between the two of them. But every moment in his company made it plainer and plainer how wrong she'd been to think that. 

This wasn't the Spike she knew. Not in any incarnation. They might as well have been complete strangers. 

It was okay, though. She'd had ten years to get used to losing him.

"It's like this" she said. And she told him. 

World-destroying demon - blah!blah! Prophecy - blah!blah! Can only be defeated when all the children of mankind - and yes, that includes vampires, even if they have just set up camp in human bodies - join together in perfect ha-armony! - blah!blah! We need to forge an alliance for the good of all. Blah!Blah! _Blah!_

She was sick of her own voice by the time she was done. It felt like being back in Mom's house in Sunnydale, trying to cheerlead a bunch of scared baby Slayers whose names she could never remember.

Except that then, he'd usually sidled out of the room when she started talking. This time, he looked interested -very, very interested.

"Well?" she asked, finally. "Do we have a deal?"

"That depends," he said, and suddenly - heart-stoppingly - he tilted his head the way he used to.

She frowned. "Depends on what?"

"On how you answer my question."

Suddenly, he was on his knees at her feet.

"Slayer, will you marry me?"

*

It wasn’t just space that was weird inside the Walsingham. Time didn’t work right either.

Buffy couldn’t explain otherwise why the seconds stretched out, like an overstressed piece of elastic, while she stared down at Spike with her mouth open, and he stayed on his knees looking up at her. 

When he finally spoke again, she could swear she heard the ping of the elastic snapping back into place. Lucky for her it didn’t take her eye out. 

“Is it the ring?” Spike asked. “If you don’t like it, we’ll get a better one.”

“Ring?” She gazed at him blankly. _Oh, ri-ight. Ring_.

She hadn’t even noticed the little box in his hand, in which, nestled in its velvet bed, was the biggest diamond she’d ever seen. 

Which, actually, wasn’t saying much. Diamonds weren’t really on her radar. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she was furious. King of the vampires or not –and what did that even mean?-how dare he!

She sprang to her feet, knocking over her glass, and sending $1000 champagne flying everywhere.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He got to his feet more slowly, still with the blank, bland expression on his face, so unlike the Spike she remembered, though just as annoying.

“So,” he said, “is that a ‘no’, or an ‘I’ll think about it’?”

She clenched her fists, to stop herself punching him in the nose. 

“Neither. It’s a ‘have you taken leave of your senses?’”

She narrowed her eyes. “I came to you in good faith, and you’re making fun of me. What is this, Spike? Revenge? So I didn’t come running when I heard you were alive, but I was busy, and you were a jerk for not calling.” 

She glared. “And even more of one for going evil again. How could you?” 

At this, his eyes widened fractionally– _at last, a reaction!_ –but his expression didn’t change otherwise. 

“I’m not making fun of you, Slayer,” he said, in a reasonable tone. “I mean it. We should get married. In fact, it’s very important we do.”

She stared at him, completely at a loss. Stymied by his blank face, his matter-of-fact voice and weird new way of talking, like a wall she couldn’t breach. 

Part of her wanted to reach out, grab him by the shoulders and shake some Spike-i-ness back into him.

The other part noted sadly that she didn’t have the right. 

Too much time had gone by. 

After a moment, he bent down and righted the toppled champagne glass.

“Permit me to explain myself.”

Stop _talking_ like that! she thought, but all she said was, “Okay. You’re permitted.” And she flopped back down into the couch, feeling bruised and angry and raw. 

He sat down more slowly, as far from her as he could get, which gave her some satisfaction. Maybe just how mad she was had gotten through to him. 

“It’s like this,” he said. “Angel and me…“

She cut in at once. “Angel’s _alive?_ ” 

Again, the eyes widened, but all he said was, "Of course. He sends his regards."

It was hard to listen after that, with one of the two certainties of her life for the last ten years - Angel dead, Spike gone bad- turned upside down. But somehow, she managed to focus. 

"You're not the only one aware of this prophecy," he was saying. "We know about it too. In fact, if you hadn't called me, I would've called you."

"That's nice," she heard herself say, without meaning it, thinking that maybe he wasn't quite so blank-faced now? She must be making him nervous. 

And who was this 'we'? All vampires, or just him and Angel?

He cleared his throat. _Yes, definitely nervous. Good._

"But we don't interpret it quite the same as you. Angel thinks it means not so much that all humans join with all vampires, just that one vampire join with one human. So I thought we should just get married. Can't be more joined than that, can you?"

When she stared at him blankly, he said, suddenly sounding far more like his old self, "Rupert's slipping in his old age. You should ask him to do his translation again, Slayer."

She glared. “You leave Giles out of this!”

He shrugged. “Sorry. But Sumerian’s tricky. Giles should know that. Maybe get the Niblet on it instead? She was always a whiz with that stuff.”

She glared harder. “ _Dawn_ isn’t available.”

“Still,” he said, and when she just kept glaring, “There’s an apocalypse coming. You said so yourself. This is important.”

“O-oh, no!” She wagged her finger at him. “You don’t get to lecture me on what’s important, Mr-high-and-mighty-king-of-the-vampires, I came to you, remember?” 

He just blinked. “More champagne?”

“You…” 

She threw up her hands. “Why the hell not?”

A few sips of the best champagne ever later, she felt calm enough to say, “So let me get this straight. You’re proposing to me because you–and Angel, apparently-think us getting married will avert this apocalypse?”

“In a nutshell,” he agreed, all bland suavity again.

“Why you? Why not Angel? I mean, he’s a vampire too. I could just as well marry him.” 

“Not really,” he said – _so_ not the reaction she’d expected. “He’d be breaking his vows, wouldn’t he?” 

“Vows?”

“Of celibacy,” he continued, in a patient tone. “He’s a monk now. Didn’t I say?”

Her jaw dropped. “A…what now?”

“A monk,” he repeated. “Well, actually, more like Father Abbot. Still has to be the one giving the orders.”

“Says the king.” 

_Don’t even_ try _to process Angel the monk right now, brain, okay?_

She glared at him again. “I knew the new you reminded me of someone. All this big picture thinking? This ‘I’m the boss of everyone’ attitude? You’re turning into Angel, aren’t you?”

To her astonishment, he just sort of smirked.

“We all turn into our parents as we get older, don’t we? For instance, you look a lot more like your mum now.”

This time, she did punch him in the nose.

*

"Dunno why you did that, Slayer. Was supposed to be a compliment."

Spike's head rested on the back of the couch. His voice came out nasal, due to the fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, to staunch the blood flow. There was blood on his once immaculate white dress shirt.

"Yeah, right." 

Buffy rolled her eyes and drank more champagne - a mistake, because it was going to her head, but when would she have another chance to drink champagne this good?

"Anyway," Spike went on, sounding slightly peevish, "you started it, saying I'd become like Angel. Your analogy doesn't hold up, by the way. Angel's not my sire. Dru is."

_Analogy?_

Maybe he wasn't even Spike, she thought. He could be a robot, or some demon could have stolen his body. Or maybe he'd had a run in with that Toth guy -who, okay, dead, but still- and now there were two of him. 

She could almost hear Giles's horrified voice, exclaiming, "Two of him? What a ghastly idea!" 

"Grandsire, then," she said. "And the fact that you've gone crazy is a big, stonking clue who your sire is, as if I needed one."

"I have not gone crazy!" he almost growled. 

That sounded way more Spike-like. Maybe there weren't two of him after all? Maybe getting the real Spike back was just a matter of making him good and mad?

She rounded on him. "If you really think you can walk back into my life after ten years, and after all the terrible things you've done, and...and propose, and I'll accept, yes, you have."

"What terrible things?" He was back to being Mr Bland. 

She threw up her hands, which - _oops!_ \- sprayed precious champagne everywhere again. "For a start, there was destroying downtown Los Angeles. Then there was that vamp protection racket you were running in Chicago."

"About that..." he said, but she cut across him.

"Then there was that incident in Beijing, and the other incident in Paris. Then that weird business in Cape Town. Then we get word that you're calling yourself king of the vampires, and they're all so afraid of you they're lining up to kiss your ass." 

"Yeah, well," he said. "It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it."

"And, okay," she steamrollered on, "I get that the vamp body count has shrunk exponentially since that happened, which could well be down to you, and if so, you're not evil evil, just kind of demi-evil. But even so, if you think I'd trust you, you're crazier than Drusilla ever was."

"I didn't ask you to trust me," he said. "Just to marry me. Not the same thing." 

His eyes widened suddenly. "Oh, right. I get it. You thought I meant more than just..." 

He got up from the couch, crossed the room and stood facing away from her. 

"I'm sorry, Slayer. Didn't explain myself properly. I didn't mean that we should start living as...as husband and wife. That'd be...You're right. That would be crazy. Not to mention presumptuous of me after all these years. I was thinking more of a political alliance- something that would satisfy the conditions of this prophecy and avert the apocalypse, that's all."

He turned, and he'd gone all inscrutable again - and damnit, she preferred him scrutable. She should never have let him turn his back on her.

"We just have to make a show of unity, Angel reckons. We wouldn't live together-of course we wouldn't, not in any sense- and we'd divorce the minute the danger was over." 

She covered her- _oh, crap!_ -disappointment-and where the hell did that come from?- by drinking more champagne. 

"Why didn't you say so before?" she heard herself say.

Abruptly, she was furious again. "And why didn't you just say it on the damn phone? Why all this...this..." 

Words failed her again. She indicated the room, with its hushed atmosphere that spoke of old money-very old money-the ornate furniture, the champagne, the diamond in its box. 

"I..." For a moment, he looked as if he didn't know himself, then he shrugged. "I suppose I thought that, after all this time, I ought to make a bit of an effort. My mistake. Angel did warn me."

"Oh, he did, did he?" 

She scowled. It was beginning to feel like Angel was a third party to this entire...whatever this was, like he was hiding somewhere and might jump out at any minute. It was making her cranky. 

Crank _ier_.

He winced. "That didn't help, did it?"

She shook her head. "Not really. Also, I'm not sure I believe this 'Angel's a monk' story. I want to hear it from him in person. Can I talk to him?"

The way this evening was going, she thought, it wouldn't have surprised her, if, dead on cue, the door had been flung open to reveal Angel standing right outside it.

Spike pursed his lips. "Hmm, tricky."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"He joined a silent order. Said it was the only way he could guarantee he'd never have to speak to me again."

Then, he raised his scarred eyebrow quizzically.

A moment later - and how it happened, she wasn't quite sure - they were both laughing like idiots.  
Or at least, because one thing about him hadn't changed, she was laughing, and he was doing that dirty snigger thing of his. 

When she finally had herself under control again, she said, "I could email him. They have the web even in monasteries, right?" 

"Probably," Spike agreed. "But he's more anti-social than ever these days. Best to leave him in peace." 

He stood up. "Which is what I should have done with you, Slayer. I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea, and I regret it. You'll find another, better, way to stop the apocalypse, I'm sure."

It took her a moment to realise he was trying to get her to leave.

_Okay, mister, you asked for it._

"Not so fast," she said. "I accept your proposal."

*

“…and after I punched him, he got all huffy and said he’d been very fond of my mom, and it was meant to be a compliment. And _then_ he said....Are you listening to me, Giles?”

Giles – _not that drunk after all, thankfully_ \- answered Buffy's question by ignoring it completely. 

“Casting doubt on my translation skills indeed!" he grumbled. "The cheek of the man! How dare he?"  
Buffy sighed. Spike still knew how to make Giles good and mad all right. 

"Yeah, how dare he for a lot of things?" she muttered, too low for Giles to hear, at the same time glancing down surreptitiously to admire the way the huge diamond on her left hand sparkled in the gloom. 

She still couldn't believe it was real. Probably, it would turn out to be just a tacky dime-store novelty ring - a sham, like Spike's king of the vampires act. 

Except that it hadn't seemed like an act - well, not all the time, and certainly not with the hench-vamps bowing and scraping to him when he gave them orders to escort Buffy and Giles to their cab.  
For that matter, they'd bowed and scraped to her too. 

Very weird. It had made her stake hand twitchy.

She became aware of her surroundings again when Giles said, 

"Then again, there was that one very tricky paragraph…”

Glancing at the window separating them from the cab driver - firmly closed, good -she turned on him.

"Which tricky paragraph would this be, Giles?"

Giles was flustered enough to take his glasses off and start polishing them. 

“Er...well, you see it's possible I might have confused standard Sumerian and the so-called, er...'women's tongue' version of the language, between which there are some grammatical differences, and..."

She interrupted him.

“You’re about to tell me Spike was right, aren't you?”

Giles looked irritable.

"Possibly. Only possibly, mind. I'd need to double check with an acquaintance at the British Museum, since Dawn's unreachable."

“Oh, for...” Buffy sank back into the seat. For a moment, a kind of weird gloom settled on her. She was doomed – doomed to become the vampire’s bride in order to save the world.

And where the hell had that come from? 

Oh, right.

 _Okay, Summers, you drank wa-ay too much champagne_.

Giles was patting her on the shoulder, she realised.

"Don't be overly concerned, Buffy," he soothed. "Even if -and though I say so myself, that's a very big 'if'- I've made a mistake, it doesn't mean that you're under any obligation to marry Spike." He snorted. "Why, the very idea is absurd." 

"Sure is," she said, brightly. “There're plenty of other ways for a human and a vamp to join together than marriage, right? We could…we could set up a joint Vamp/Slayer charity for the victims of…blood loss. Or…or…” 

Giles had put his glasses back on. He blinked at her through the thick lenses.

"Yes, well, facetiousness aside, we will of course find _some_ way to fulfil the terms of the prophecy - whatever they, in fact, turn out to be -that don't entail you making choices that might be distasteful, or morally compromising to the...the Slayer mission. Of course we will."

"Of course," she echoed, still in the same Peppy Buffy tone, glancing at the ring again, and deciding that Giles must be more drunk than he seemed, because that was the only time he was ever pompous.

But not too drunk to realise she was keeping something from him, given the way he was looking at her now.

 _Uh-oh_. 

"I am rather puzzled, I admit," Giles said, suddenly, "because surely Spike must have known you would refuse such a crass offer, so...”

She cut in, “So, why ask?” 

Giles frowned. He was looking very suspicious indeed. "Exactly."

"It's a mystery all right." She fixed her gaze on the cab window, outside which the London streets slid by, all crowds and rain-washed neon. 

After a moment's strained silence, Giles went on, 

"And you say that he seemed very different. Nothing like the Spike we used to know?"

“Yeah. " She nodded. "He talked…well, he sounded more like you, Giles. All ‘allow me’ this, ‘permit me’ that. It was weird.” Buffy grimaced at the memory. “Then other times, he’d sound more…I don’t know. Normal?”

“Yet when I spoke to him on the phone,” Giles mused, “he sounded much as I remembered. Certainly just as rude. Odd.”

She couldn't resist the urge to mess with Giles just a little.

“Maybe he met someone with one of those ferula–gemina things? You know, like the guy who split Xander in two? Maybe there are two of him?”

Giles actually went pale. “What a ghastly idea," he said, just as she'd imagined him saying. "Who on earth would want to do such a thing, and why?” 

They stared at each other. After a moment, Giles's eyes widened. 

"Oh dear lord!" he muttered. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?"

The next moment, he'd produced as if by magic the bottle of very expensive whisky Spike had given him, opened it and taken a long swig. 

"You told him you'd marry him, I take it?"

It was hard to keep reminding herself she was all grown-up now, when Giles's face had that 'you're a crashing disappointment to me' look on it, which she hadn't seen for many years. But she kept her Determined Buffy expression firmly in place.

"You bet your bottom dollar I am, Giles." And she showed him her finger.

Giles looked from her face to the ring and back, aghast. "But...why? What purpose can it serve?"

"Easy." She shrugged. "Firstly, it may stop the apocalypse, which was the whole reason for that meeting. Secondly, there's something weird going on with Spike. He's hiding something. Scratch that, he's hiding lots of somethings. I don't know what, but I'll do whatever it takes - even marry him- to find out."

Giles grimaced. "And if they're bad things?"

She shrugged again. "I'm the Slayer."

*

"So-oo, you went crazy when exactly?"

Xander was gripping the back of the chair so hard his knuckles were white. 

Buffy sighed. First Giles, now Xander. And probably she would have the same conversation all over again with Willow and Dawn when they came home. 

"I have not gone crazy, okay? There's an apocalypse to avert."

Xander wasn't ready to back down yet.

"Like the last one, and the one before. Seriously, Buf, whose counting? I just know we never stopped any of them by someone marrying someone, least of all a vampire." His lips thinned. "Not even one with a soul."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what was really bothering him - that she was marrying a vampire, or that she was marrying Spike. But what was the point? Water? Bridge? Gone under it long ago.

Instead, she shrugged. "Every apocalypse is different, you know that. I think there's a committee somewhere - a -super-evil committee - inventing new ones. Only they're running out of ideas, so the apocalypses - apocalypsii? - I can never remember which it is- are getting lamer all the time." 

"But..." Xander began, but she wouldn't let him finish.

"Either that or it's leprechauns. I mean, just cuz _Giles_ says they don't exist..."

Xander threw up his hands. "Okay, _okay_ , I get the message. You don't wanna talk about it."

She shook her head. "I'll talk about it all you like, but I'm not discussing it. My decision's made, Xander, and it's final."

Xander looked mulish for a moment. Then he sort of sighed, and huffed at the same time. "Tell me why."

"Have a seat." She indicated the chair he was currently in danger of breaking. "You're looming, and I don't like it."

"Am I? Sorry." Xander let go the chair and slumped into it. He pushed up his eye patch and scratched the empty socket fitfully. 

He looked tired Buffy thought, with a pang, and the gesture was a timely reminder -as if one were needed - that he'd given more for the cause than most. 

Her decision might be made, but he was owed that explanation. 

She leaned forward across the desk. "It's like this. First, me making a personal alliance with Spike is way preferable to us, the Slayer organisation, having to make a wider alliance with vampires. It just is. We could never trust them not to turn on us. Never."

Xander conceded the point with a small shrug. "But you trust Spike?"

His voice made it clear what he thought about the notion of trusting Spike, but she shook her head again.

"No, I don't. But after what I saw last night, I trust him to keep the other vamps in line until we at least find out if the marriage thing works."

"And if it doesn't?" Xander asked.

She shrugged. "Then we think again. And, oh yeah, Spike and I get a quickie divorce."

"But...don't you do that anyway?" Xander frowned.

She took her time answering him. This part was a harder sell.

"Tell me," she said, at last, "what do we know about Spike? After he burned up in the Hellmouth, that is?"

"Oka-ay," Xander said, still frowning. "We know nothing at all. In fact, we think he's dead, until Andrew comes back from LA with Dana, and tells us Spike's alive and working with Angel." He leaned his elbows on the desk, and gazed at her steadily. "You were pretty mad, as I recall."

"Yeah, well," she said, "he acted like a jerk. In fact, they both did." 

"Got that right," Xander muttered, the implication being it was hardly for the first time. "Anyway, after that, we again hear nothing, except for a load of bad stuff about that law firm Angel was running. Then half of LA gets blown to hell. Literally."

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory. The TV pictures had been...

She didn't want to think about them, actually.

"Then what?" she prompted him.

Xander grimaced. " _Then_ after we've managed to contain the situation, and lost a lot of good people in the process, we again hear nothing. We assume they're both dead this time. And we go on assuming Angel's dead long after Spike pops up again in Chicago. In fact, we still assume it. Until today." He shook his head in disbelief. "A monk? Really?"

"That's what Spike said." 

Let Xander take that how he wanted.

"And after that?"

"After that," Xander said, "things get really weird." He shook his head again. "I don't get it. Why do the vampires have a king suddenly? And why the _hell_ is it Spike?"

She tapped her finger on the desk top. "And that's exactly why I won't be divorcing him straightaway. I wanna know what he's up to, Xander. I need to know, because if it's bad..."

Xander looked sceptical. "Don't tell me. You'll slay him? Heard that one before, Buf."

She frowned. "But this time, I mean it."

Xander's expression didn't change. It clearly said, _I'll believe it when I see it_.

She decided not to argue the point, if only because it might mean re-opening old wounds she would much rather stayed closed. 

"So you understand now?" she asked, instead.

After a moment, he nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I get it. It makes sense." _For now_ , she could almost hear him adding.

She leaned across the desk and patted his arm. "You should get some rest, Xander. You look beat."

He smiled. "I _am_ tired." 

He got up to leave, then hesitated. "Just one more question, Buf."

She'd already picked up a folder full of documents, one of the many items in her overflowing in-tray. "Yeah? What?"

"Don't hit me, will you?" he pleaded.

She put the folder down in surprise. "Of course not. Why would I?"

"You're sure you didn't just agree to marry Spike cuz he's the only guy's ever asked you?"

*

"So Rupert admits he was wrong, does he?"

Buffy wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that Spike could still do smug with the best of them.

"That's Mr Giles to you, and yes, he admits it. He was tired the day he did that translation. We all were. There'd been a really bad harbinger that day - rain of fire in Slough, Berkshire."

To her outrage, he laughed out loud. "So it finally happened, did it? Beachyman -" at least, that's what it sounded like he said -" would be ecstatic."

"What's a beachyman?" she snapped. "Some kind of demon that hangs out by the sea? If so, tell me where, so I can slay it." 

He only sniggered some more. 

"I said Betjeman, Slayer, not beachyman. And he's not a demon. He's a poet. He wrote a poem back in the Thirties that starts, _Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough! It isn't fit for humans now._ He didn't like the place being concreted over, that's all."

"Oh." She didn't know whether to be embarrassed or angry, or just weirded out that Spike, of all people, was quoting poetry at her. "Well, he was an asshole, then." _Just like you_. "People died, Spike. It was horrible."

He was contrite at once. Or put on a good pretence of being.

"Sorry, Slayer. It was completely inappropriate humour in the circumstances. Forget I said it."

She drew a deep breath. Which he would hear, of course, so, even over the phone, he would know he'd gotten to her. _Jerk_.

"Anyway, I didn't call you to make small talk," she said. "Yes, Giles agrees with your interpretation of the prophecy. Yes, the wedding is a go. So let's get it over with. How about Monday?"

"Hmm," he said. "I'll have to check my schedule. Anton?"

Then his voice went muffled while, she supposed, he conferred with some hench-vamp, or pretended to, just to mess with her head some more. She refrained from slamming the phone down on him, but it was a near thing.

_Anton? I mean, really?_

His voice was in her ear again.

"Monday's not so good for me. How about Friday?"

She gritted her teeth. Willow and Dawn were due back Tuesday. She'd been hoping it would be all over by then. 

"All right."

"Good," he said. "We can get the ball rolling before that, though. How about we put out a joint press release?"

_Press release?_

It was on the tip of her tongue yet again to ask him who was he and what had he done with Spike. Instead, she said, "Oka-ay, what?"

There was a short silence. Then he said, in a patient tone that she didn't like at all, "This is a marriage in name only, remember? There has to be something authentic about it, or it won't fulfil the terms of the prophecy. Blanket television coverage and live-streaming on the web ought to do the trick, don't you think?"

"Blanket TV coverage?"

Just when had she turned into a damn parrot? 

"Yes," he said, still in that obnoxious patient tone. "My people are talking to media companies around the world, even as we speak. We think we can get air time on all the major news channels. It helps, of course, that people can never seem to get enough demon stories."

She could feel a headache coming on, and it was all his fault, damn him. 

"Fine," she said, because she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how thrown she was. "But before we go any further down this road, I'd like to make a few things clear."

There was a pause so slight, she almost didn't notice it. Then he said, "Of course. What are they?"

"This wedding takes place in a neutral venue. Hell, it can take place in a TV studio, if you want, but I won't be part of some weird vampire media circus, so keep it simple. Also, if it's a marriage in name only, it'll be a wedding in name only too. No white dresses, no dumb vows - I am _not_ promising to obey you - no religion, especially not demon religion. And don't you dare bring Angel along to officiate."

"And no stupid cakes either," she threw in, for good measure.

There was a longer pause this time. Then he said, with the slightest hint of a whine in his voice, 

"Can't we even have a party afterwards?"

She thought about it for a moment. Then she said, "Only if you bring more of that champagne." 

He laughed, and this time, she joined him. "Consider it done," he said. 

After that, there didn't seem a whole lot else to say, so she said goodbye - curtly, like you would to a cold-call salesman - and hung up.

Then, she picked up one of the endless reports in her in-tray and stared at it blankly. 

After a moment, she put it down again. Her head was still throbbing.

"Damnit."

She stood up and marched, grim-faced, out of her office.

Fortunately, the gym would be empty this time of day. No one would see her pummelling punching bag after punching bag into dusty oblivion.

She'd come across Spike doing that once, the day before he died in the Hellmouth. 

Why couldn't he just have stayed dead?

Him and Angel both.

By the end of the workout, her knuckles were sore, her arms ached, and her sweats were plastered to her with...well, sweat. She leaned against one of the mirrors that lined the walls, leaving smeary marks where her flesh was pressed to it. 

Damn vampires! Damn them all. 

Especially ones with souls.

"Yeah, that includes you, Mister," she said, sourly, addressing an invisible Angel in his cell, or whatever it was monks slept in these days. 

Because despite Angel having taken himself out of the picture in such a final way, it almost felt like she was marrying both of them.

*

"So I don't even get to be maid of honour?"

For someone nearer thirty than twenty, Dawn could still make a decent attempt at an adolescent whine.  
"Sorry." Buffy gave her a rueful smile. "I told Spike no fuss."

"Maids of honour aren't fuss," Dawn insisted. "They run interference for the bride - fend off the best man when he gets so drunk he tries to kiss her - get chased by the paparazzi instead of her. That kind of thing."

"Well, there's nothing to stop you standing near me and glaring a lot," Buffy conceded.

"Fine." Dawn ran a hand through her short, spiky hair. "I can do that. I can glare at Spike too, if you want."

"Maybe after we've saved the world."

Buffy slipped off her shoes, sank gratefully into the couch and sipped her tea. She hadn't felt so beat in years. Who knew that planning a wedding could be such hard work, even when it wasn't you doing the planning.

No, Spike's people - or not-people, in this case - were taking care of everything. He assured her that was so, and if it turned out he was full of crap...

Well, she could always call the wedding off. 

Suddenly, Dawn said, "You remind me of Mom - sitting all quiet, drinking herbal tea. That's what she used to do too, when she got home from work."

Buffy smiled at her. "Yeah, I remember."

"Mom liked Spike," Dawn went on. "She knew he was fucked up, but she liked him anyway. She didn't trust him, though, and I don't think she'd have liked you marrying him."

Buffy froze, cup half way to her lips. Dawn's face had gotten that brittle look it sometimes got when she was remembering bad stuff. 

Of which there was a lot.

"Dawn..."

Dawn hunched her shoulders, exposing another inch of the intricate tattoos that covered her upper arms to just below her elbows.

"He _is_ fucked up, Buffy. You know that, right? Getting a soul doesn't change that."

Buffy set her cup down on the table. There was no use arguing the point, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. Looking Dawn straight in the eye, she said,

"He won't hurt me this time, Dawn. I promise you. I won't let him."

"He'd better not," Dawn growled. "Or this time I really will set him on fire."

"I believe you," Buffy told her.

"I wouldn't even have to be in the same room as him," Dawn went on. "I've gotten pretty good at pyrokinesis. Even Willow says so." She held up her hands. "It's okay. I won't do it, I promise. Not unless you tell me to."

"Well, good."

Buffy drank more tea. She felt antsy about Dawn learning magic at all, let alone firestarting. 

Okay, so being able to turn vampires into human torches with a mere word could be useful, but Dawn was still kind of clumsy at times. The school cat's whiskers hadn't grown back a whole year later.

Time for a change of subject, maybe?

"So, how was the trip?"

Dawn's eyes lit up at once. "It was great. Just incredible. I never thought...You should see this one dimension, Buffy. There was nothing there but shrimp."

Buffy grimaced. "Eww!"

"It _was_ pretty weird," Dawn agreed. "Pretty, though. There was no sun, just three moons, a blue, a red and a silver. When they were all in the sky together, it was just...I can't describe it."

"Sounds cool," Buffy admitted, and Dawn shivered.

"Cool? It was freezing. Then there was another dimension where there were no shrimp at all. That was even weirder. Their civilisation had never really gotten off the ground."

Buffy listened to Dawn talk. It did sound interesting, but after a while she could feel herself beginning to drift. 

Dawn was still so mad at Spike all these years later, and she had every right to be. 

For that matter, so did she. And she was, though for different reasons, which was something Dawn had never been able to understand.

But then Dawn was wrong about one thing. Spike might be fucked up, but getting a soul did change things. Even Dawn didn't know how much.

"Earth to Buffy!" Dawn waved a hand in front of her face. "Come in Buffy."

Buffy blinked, caught out. "Sorry, Dawn. I'm so tired. Guess I zoned out there."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "It's okay, Buffy. If you're bored, you don't have to pretend."

"It's not that," Buffy assured her. "Really it's not. This wedding business has gotten to me, that's all."

Dawn leaned forward, suddenly intent. "Don't do it, then."

_Nice going, Summers, taking the conversation around in circles._

Buffy shook her head. "My mind's made up. Besides, it'll all be over soon."

Dawn frowned. "I don't get it. I really don't. Why are you doing this, Buffy?"

Buffy sighed. This was only the third time she'd had this conversation, but it felt like it had been forever. 

"To save the world, of course," she said. Then, to have an end of the matter, she closed her eyes, leaning her head on the couch back.

"Oh boy, am I beat!"

There was a short silence. Then Dawn got to her feet. Buffy opened her eyes to find her tall, willowy sister towering over her, scowling.

"Don't think we're done here," Dawn said.

"We are for now." Buffy stifled a yawn. "Not least because I need to sleep, and Giles needs you to check his translation of the prophecy. Or he says he does. I think he's still looking for a get-out clause." 

"I don't blame him." Dawn made towards the door, but Buffy reached out and grabbed her hand.  
Bringing it to her lips, she kissed Dawn's knuckles. 

"I'm glad you're back, Dawnie."

After a moment, Dawn's scowl melted into a reluctant smile. Bending down, she put her arms around Buffy's neck and hugged her. 

"With me around, at least you can't do anything else crazy."

*

Buffy eyed Willow dubiously. Somehow, even after all these years, she still couldn't quite get used to the way her best friend had taken to meditating while floating in mid air.

"Sooo...you're not gonna tell me I'm crazy, or ask me what the hell I think I'm doing?"

Willow didn't move, eyes shut, legs in the lotus position, hands resting on knees. She looked serene. Or maybe she was just asleep?

Then again, as Willow’s eyelids flew open, making Buffy jump, maybe not.

She tried not to flinch at the sight of dark eyes with no white or discernible pupil staring back into hers.

That was another thing she couldn't get used to. 

"Why," Willow enquired, in a puzzled tone, "would I say anything like that?"

"Er..." Buffy cleared her throat. _It does not mean she's gone evil, okay? It's just one of those...things. You know, those magical-type things?_ "Because everyone else has - Giles, Xander, Dawn. Don't you want your turn?"

Willow smiled. The black glaze faded from her eyes, and suddenly she was just Willow again – little and friendly, and with that earnest, wanting-to-please, Willow-y expression on her face. 

"Nope."

"Really?" Buffy realised she was hugging herself and let go quickly. "You're sure? 'Cuz I have this great speech all ready in my head to explain to you why you’re wrong and I'm right."

"It's okay," Willow said. "You can save it for next time." She blinked. "I mean, it stands to reason I’ll be wrong and you’ll be right at some point, right? Statistically, I mean."

"I guess." Buffy gave Willow an apologetic look. "Will? Would you mind?"

"What?" Willow said. Then she looked down, at all the empty air between herself and Buffy. "Oh, sorry."

A moment later, she'd floated gracefully back down to earth, and was holding out her hand. "Help me up?"

"Sure." Buffy grabbed Willow's outstretched hand and hauled her to her feet. 

“Tea?” Willow asked, and Buffy smiled. It was good to have Willow back.

“Why not?”

She followed Willow into the kitchen, which, like the living room, had the slightly worn air of a place well lived in. But not for a while, if the wilting herbs in their pots on the windowsill were anything to go by. 

“So how is Kennedy?” Buffy asked. 

Willow poured hot water into mugs. “She’s good, thanks. She flies home Thursday. It’s been a while. I can’t wait to see her.”

So Kennedy _was_ coming back? Maybe, Buffy thought, the rumours that had reached her of trouble in paradise were false, or at least exaggerated. 

She sipped from the glazed pottery mug that Willow handed her, then gasped as the flavour zinged around in her mouth, as if she’d swallowed a small, herbal-flavoured comet. “Wow! This is amazing!”

Willow’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “It’s great, isn’t it? Very energising. Dawn and me picked it up on our travels.”

Buffy gaped at her. “It’s extra-dimensional tea?” 

Willow nodded. “Sure. Don’t sweat it, though, Buffy. It’s perfectly safe for humans.”

Buffy set her cup down on the counter. Not that she didn’t believe Willow, but…alien tea?

“Okay,” she said. “Tell me now, just why aren’t you tearing me a new one for agreeing to marry Spike when everyone else has?”

Willow shrugged. “’Cuz it’s the right thing to do.”

“It is?” Buffy’s mouth dropped open again. “Really? You really think so?”

“Of course.” Willow smiled. “It’s a quick and easy fix for our latest the-world’s-about-to-end problem. And it’s about time you sorted out your vampire issues once and for all.”

Buffy had been about to pick up her mug again – alien tea it might be, but it was sooo tasty – but her hand froze mid-reach.

“My…vampire issues?”

“Sure.” Willow’s gaze met hers over the rim of her mug, unflinching. “You know, those ones you’ve had since you were, like, sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” Buffy said, automatically. 

_And why am I even thinking about that? Ancient history_.

“I do _not_ have vampire issues,” she said, trying to keep the growl out of her voice.

Willow probably heard it anyway, but it didn’t seem to faze her. 

“Sure you do. And until you face up to them, you’ll never be able to move on. And no one can say that marrying Spike isn’t facing up to them, can they? You’ll finally get to see how a vamp/slayer relationship works out, for better or worse.” 

She tilted her head in a way that, for a single lurching moment, reminded Buffy of Spike. “Kind of a pity really that you can’t marry both of them. Get it out of your system in one fell swoop.”

“That’s not…” Buffy hesitated, caught between anger and bemusement. “I’m not marrying Spike like...like _that_ , Will. It’s just for show. For the prophecy. We won’t be…living together like man and wife.”

Willow blinked again. Then she looked crestfallen. “Oh. That’s a pity.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Buffy picked up her mug again. “Just as well, though, for Spike’s sake. Dawn told me she really will set him on fire this time, if he...he done me wrong again.”

“That’s my Dawnie.” Willow had filled a small china jug at the kitchen tap and was watering the drooping herbs. “I think these are beyond saving. Also a pity.”

Buffy cleared her throat. “So, what you’re saying is, you think I should give this marrying Spike a go for real?”

Willow turned and looked at her. Her expression was very serious. “I do. I’d say the same if it were Angel. You need to deal with your past, Buffy, or how can you face the future?”

Buffy scowled. “You sound like one of those lame lifestyle gurus. Or a therapist. A really crappy one.”

Willow held her gaze. “That doesn’t mean I’m not right.” 

After a moment, Buffy conceded the point with a sigh. 

“I’m really screwed up, aren’t I, Will?”

Willow grimaced. “Not just you. We all are, but, hey, at least you’ll be getting some.”


	2. Chapter 2

"So, when did you two decide to tie the knot?"

Buffy pressed herself into the couch back as the female TV presenter- _"Call me Holly,"_ \- with the dazzling smile and unfeasibly shiny hair craned in her direction. 

"Er..." She glanced down at the little microphone attached to her lapel.

_Is this thing even working?_

"It was about a week ago," Spike cut in, smooth as silk. "But we've known each other a long time, haven't we?"

He directed his gaze towards Buffy as he spoke, and raised an eyebrow, in a way that clearly said, _Over to you, Slayer._

Which was just as well. No _way_ she was letting him talk for her. 

"Yes, that's right." She cleared her throat, and frowned. The bright lights in the studio were making her feel hot and uncomfortable, and Holly the presenter in her chic pastel sheath dress- _and she's younger than me, which makes it even worse_ \- was a bit too bright eyed and eager for her liking.

None of this seemed to bother Spike, though. He sat at ease on the other side of the couch- not sprawling, but very relaxed.

_He must have done this before. When? And how did I miss it? Are there TV shows just for demons?_

"That's very unusual, isn't it?" Holly was saying. "For a Slayer to know a vampire personally, I mean."

Spike nodded. "It is, but of course I'm not like other vampires, and Buffy's not like other Slayers."

Holly turned to Buffy again. "Would you agree with that assessment, Buffy?"

_Okay, Mom, just why did you saddle me with this stupid name?_

Buffy forced a smile onto her face. She could play this game. Of course she could."Yes, Holly, I would. Spike has a soul, which makes him pretty much unique among vampires, and I'm...well, I'm the most experienced Slayer in the business." 

_Not a boast, okay? Just the simple truth._

Holly's eyes had strayed downwards from Buffy's face - _What's she looking at? Do I have a wrinkly neck?_ \- but she looked up again as Buffy spoke, meeting her gaze.

"And that business would of course be slaying vampires?"

"Yes," Buffy said, into the rather uncomfortable ensuing silence. "It would."

She kept her disquiet out of her voice. What was Holly getting at?

She had her answer a moment later, when Holly turned back to Spike.

"And, as king of the vampires, how does that make you feel, Spike? Doesn't it bother you at all that the woman you're going to marry is a serial killer of your subjects?"

"Now wait a minute..." Buffy was half on her feet, but sat down again, inwardly kicking herself for falling into Holly's trap. 

She had to keep it together. The last thing the Slayer organisation needed was any more bad publicity.

_Giles warned me this could happen. So did Xander. And Dawn. Why didn't I listen to them?_

The tension in the studio was palpable, and Holly was looking all kinds of pleased with herself. But then, Spike laughed.

"Actually, no, Holly. It doesn't bother me in the slightest."

It obviously wasn't the answer Holly had expected. She looked disconcerted, and glanced momentarily off set, to where Spike's aides were standing. Spike's gaze followed hers, then seemed to catch it, as if he were a lamp and Holly a moth, and brought her attention back to himself.

"In fact," he said, "if you understood vampires at all, you wouldn't even ask that question."

"I wouldn't?" Holly repeated, stupidly, and Buffy found herself wondering just when exactly Spike had learned to do that thrall thing. Or maybe he'd always known how? 

Either way, Drusilla - wherever she was - would be so proud of him.

"No." Spike shook his head. "See, vampires thrive on danger - on violence. They like living on the edge. If the Slayer didn't exist we'd have to invent her."

"Really?" Holly had moved closer to him, eyes still fixed on his face. "That's...fascinating."

"Yes," Spike agreed. "It is. And now that's settled, why don't you ask us about the wedding ceremony instead?"

He blinked slowly, dropping Holly's gaze. She started a little and edged away from him, looking pale, and with sweat starting along her hairline. 

"Back with more about the wedding of the year after this break," she said, addressing the camera. 

"A-and cut," a voice called.

Holly sagged, then abruptly got up and hurried off the set. 

Buffy watched Spike's eyes follow Holly's departing figure. His expression was bland, but there was a tension in him that hadn't been there before. Buffy's Slayer sense twitched, like someone had tickled the back of her neck with cold fingers. Something was going on here.

Spike addressed her suddenly. 

"Excuse me a moment, Slayer. There's an urgent matter I must deal with."

"Sure," Buffy said, but he was gone before she'd even finished speaking.

She watched him cross the studio floor to where his aides stood with the rest of his entourage. There were four of them, three men, one woman. The woman, Buffy couldn't help noticing, was very pretty, in a predatory kind of way. 

But she looked more prey than predator now. In fact, all four looked scared out of their wits. As Spike drew nearer, they went down on their knees almost as one, pushing and jostling one of their number to the front, though he clearly didn't want to go.

"All right," Spike said, quietly, but audibly, "which of you fuckers bribed the bitch?"

"Spare us, your majesty," Buffy heard the woman wail. "It was Anton. We had nothing to do with it."

Spike said nothing. Instead, he took a stake out of his jacket pocket and dusted all four of them, methodically, one after the other. To Buffy's astonishment, they didn't even try to run.

Spike showed no emotion as he put the stake back into his pocket and came towards her. 

"All right," he said. "Let's get this over with."

*

Buffy wasn't surprised when a different presenter conducted the second half of the interview, a man this time, a comfortable family-type looking guy.

There were no more trick questions, just bland stuff about the practicalities of a human/vampire union; where would they live, what hours would they keep, and so on.

Even so, the interview seemed to drag on forever, and her heart sank when Spike told Mr Presenter Guy there would be a press conference immediately after the wedding.

Of course, she already knew that. Spike's people had sent her people - which was basically her - a draft schedule of the day's events, for her approval. 

She'd approved everything. She'd even okay'd the post-wedding drinks reception at the Walsingham. The fact that no one could ever find the place was, she thought, a big point in its favour. 

Spike was exchanging bland pleasantries with the presenter. She heard her own voice doing the same, then she followed him off the set. Xander was waiting for her in the green room. If Spike's aides had done likewise maybe they wouldn't be dust right now. 

Dust that the rest of Spike's entourage were trying not to step in, looking scared out of their little vampire wits.

Speaking of which...

"So what was that all about?" she asked, indicating the four dust piles. 

Spike's face was doing that opaque thing again.

"Vampire politics," he said. "Exactly what you didn't want to get involved in, Slayer. I can only apologise." He smiled. "You just can't get the staff these days."

He made to turn away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Not that I care or anything, but that Anton guy -" _Anton? Really?_ -"was the one who set us up. Why did you kill the others?"

He blinked slowly, once. Then he said, "Not that you care or anything, but it's just the way things are. They might not have been in on Anton's little plan, but they didn't stop him either."

She grimaced, remembering the female aide's terrified plea. "I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but, okay, I'm gonna say it. That's not fair."

His face had gotten the patient look again, which she didn't like at all. How dare he patronise her? 

"Vampires are evil, as you know," he said, in a patient voice to match the look. "They only care about themselves. You have to control them through fear." 

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, " _You_ cared about something apart from yourself. You cared about Drusilla. Then you cared about me." But she didn't say it. His way of caring had had its own problems.

_Fucked up, just like Dawn said_.

Aloud, she said, "That's all well and good, I guess, until some vamp comes along whose bigger and meaner than you are." 

To her astonishment, he only laughed again. "Never happen," he said. "Well, bigger, I grant you. That wouldn't be hard. But meaner? Not likely."

She opened her mouth to ask him how he could be so sure, but he gave her a bland smile and said, "See you at the venue," then turned and was whisked away by his remaining hench-vamps.

She stared after him, furious again.

_What have you gotten yourself into this time, Summers? It's like you're marrying Doctor Doom_.

The car journey home passed in silence at first. She was still processing the incident with the four aides and didn't feel like discussing it with Xander. Xander, meanwhile, was looking kind of pissed, which told her that he'd gotten a glimpse of Spike exiting the building. 

"Let me guess," she said, at last, when they were stuck in traffic somewhere in the West End," Spike cut you dead, right?"

Xander, who'd been slumped gloomily over the wheel, gave her a startled look. "Not at all. He said hi. Asked me how I was."

"Oh." She digested this for a moment. Then, she said, "Why the glum face, then?"

Xander bristled. "I am _not_ glum."

She smiled. "Are too."

He slumped again. "Okay, just a little bit."

She waited, but he didn't explain, so she said, "Gonna tell me why?"

He glanced at her again, looking trapped. "Do I have to?"

She held up both hands. "I promise I won't hit you. Hey, I didn't, even after you asked me that question. You know the one."

"I know," he agreed. "And sorry, but I had to. Anyway, it's like this, Buf. I hate vampires. I just...I hate them, okay?"

"Nothing wrong with that," she said. "They're very...hateable."

As she said it, a light seemed to go on inside her head. 

_Spike hates them too. He_ loathes _them_.

"They so are," Xander was saying. "Thing is, that means - well, it means I hate Spike too. And Angel. In fact, I probably hate them even more than I hate other vampires."

"I'm sorry," she said, because she didn't know what else to say. 

"I know it's wrong," he said, though she hadn't protested. "They have souls, right? That means they get a pass for all the bad stuff they did when they didn't have them."

"I don't know about that," she said, but he didn't seem to hear her. 

"But I can't do that. Give them a pass, I mean. I can't forget what they did - Miss Calendar- what Spike did to you. I can't forget any of it."

He turned to look at her. "So, yeah, it pisses me off that after everything they did, one of them gets to marry you. Even if it's just for show."

"Sorry," she said again. She still didn't know what else to say.

He sighed. "It's okay, Buf. I know you have to."

The traffic snarl eased and they were moving again. 

"You wanna hear something weird?" he said. 

"What is it?" Right now, she wasn't sure she did.

"I hate Spike, but I kinda like him too? That's weird, right?"

She smiled again. "It really is."

*

The setting could have been worse, Buffy had to admit. Mayfair Library might be small, but it was cute, and the stained glass panel in the window was to die-for.

In fact, the only thing she didn't like about it was the gaggle of paparazzi that had been waiting outside when she stepped out of the car.

She was still seeing stars from all the flashbulbs going off in her face.

No, scratch that. There were two things she didn't like about it, the other being just how many vampires there were in the place at the moment.

Where was Mr Pointy when you needed him?

Giles must be thinking the same thing, judging by the set expression on his face, and the way he kept his hand in his jacket pocket. 

_Note to self: Giles is armed, just in case._

"This is weird," Dawn muttered, in Buffy's ear. "You think so too, right?"

"Majorly," Buffy said. "For sure."

"You know what's worst of all?" Dawn went on. "They're smiling at us. _Vampires_ are smiling at us, and not because they think they'll get to eat us later." She frowned. "And bowing. What's with all the bowing?"

Buffy resisted the urge to touch her lips to see whether her own attempt at a smile had become more of a rictus - _don't, okay, Summers? You'll smudge your lipstick_. She nodded at a girl vamp who'd just dropped her a curtsey.

"I guess," she said, "it's cuz I'm their queen. Or I will be some time in the next ten minutes."

Dawn gaped at her, as if that truth hadn't sunk in until just now. Which maybe it hadn't. 

"That's...that's just crazy."

"Yup." 

Or is it, Buffy asked herself? Those warning bells were going off in her head again, for some reason.  
The room was small, and rather crowded, so she didn't notice Spike until a couple of taller vamps stepped aside, to reveal him standing waiting.

He was wearing a dark suit with impeccable tailoring - the kind that said Savile Row bespoke. It looked kind of weird with the bleach blond hair - and why did he still have that anyway? It didn't go with the rest of his new persona - but there was no way it couldn't look good, even on a guy as short as he was.

Buffy felt drab suddenly, in her oyster coloured pantsuit. Maybe she should have worn a dress, or gone for outrageous, like Dawn in her docs and flounces?

Not that she could carry off outrageous. So not her thing.

Spike's gaze slid from Buffy to Dawn, widened slightly as he took in Dawn's appearance, then her identity. 

"Buffy," he said, all suave again. "Dawn." He held out his hand. "Nice to see you."

Dawn stared at him, then at his outstretched hand, like it was a gun and might go off. 

"Spike," she said, very stiff and un-Dawnlike. She kept her hands firmly at her sides.

For the briefest of moments, Buffy saw the skin around Spike's eyes tighten. Then he let his hand drop. "Shall we?" he said, to Buffy.

Buffy glanced back over her shoulder, checking that everyone had gotten a seat - Xander, Giles, Willow, Kennedy and the other Slayers - _okay, perimeter's all guarded_. "Sure."

Dawn stayed with her, an angry presence at her shoulder as she spoke her vows (the legal requirement, no more, no less). Spike stood alone when he spoke his. No best man. Not even to pass the ring.

It looked like being king of the vampires was a lonely job when you couldn't stand your subjects.  
The thought struck her so hard she found herself almost feeling sorry for him. Couldn't Angel have taken time out from being a monk, or what?

She jumped when cold fingers took hers and slid a thick gold ring onto her finger. It was the first time he'd touched her (except for when his nose collided with her fist) for ten whole years.

Then there was some stuff that needed signing. Giles came to join her and Dawn for that. Giles still had his hand in his pocket. 

Maybe, she thought, it wasn't a stake, but a hipflask? 

Then the celebrant was looking at her expectantly. Was that it, she thought? Were they done?

It seemed they were. Spike had put his arm around her waist - not quite touching her, she noted - urging her to turn and face the...not congregation. More like audience. It was only now that she took in the banks of lights and the TV cameras at the back of the room.

No wonder she was sweating. 

Her memory of what happened next was a little hazy when she thought about it later. Had the act of speaking the marriage vows turned her brains to mush?

At any rate, there were people - well, mostly vampires, which was the weirdest thing of all in a week of weirdness - throwing confetti on the stairs as they came down it. Then there was the impromptu - _yeah, right!_ \- press conference in the lobby. 

The part of her brain that wasn't mush made a note of the questions, every one of which was safe and bland. Marriage of old friends, new way of working together, human/demon harmony. Blah-blah-blah!

Outside, the sun had set. No need for the necro-tempered glass in the long black cars. 

The vamps piled into them anyway, and Buffy found herself swept along with them at Spike's side. She'd lost Dawn somewhere.

"Dawn?" She craned her head, trying to see over the heads of much taller people, but a glimpse of spiky crimson hair was all she got.

"It's okay, Slayer," Spike said in her ear, suddenly. "A car will bring them to the Walsingham - Dawn, Giles, everyone."

Then - how it happened, she wasn't quite sure - she was sitting in the most luxurious car she'd ever sat in.

Alone, at last. 

With her new husband.

*

The traffic was snarled up on Knightsbridge, as usual. It looked like getting to the Walsingham might take some time.

Buffy glanced at Spike, but he was staring out the window, all broody and un-Spike-like. She frowned.

_What's going through that head of yours, mister?_

She missed the days when she'd always been able to tell. 

Sighing, she gazed out her own side of the car at the display in the Harrods store windows. All the mannequins had tails, or horns, or even wings like bats. Some sort of demon theme going on there, looked like. People really were mad for them these days.

That was another thing she missed - the time when no one outside the supernatural loop knew about demons and vampires, or if they did, they had the good sense - not to mention the good taste- not to talk about it. 

"That went well, I thought," Spike said, suddenly, startling her out of her reverie.

"Uh, yeah," she said. "I mean, it could have been a whole lot worse."

"Dawn looks well," he went on, the slightest hint of a tentative edge in his tone. As if he thought she might not like him even mentioning Dawn. 

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, "Go on. Admit it. You never pictured my kid sister with piercings and tattoos, did you? Oh, and did I mention she's a budding pyromancer? And no, I don't mean she sees pretty pictures in the fire." 

But she didn't say it. It sounded too...familiar. 

Instead, she said, "Yeah, she's doing real well. Thanks for noticing."

Silence fell again. The limousine inched forward another few hundred yards. 

_Lame, Summers. Lame, lame, lame! That was him making an overture, and you've just killed the conversation stone dead._

Willow would probably have put it down to her still not wanting to face up to her 'vampire issues', she thought. Which in turn reminded her that Spike wasn't the only one with a hidden agenda.

She took a deep breath.

_You're the Slayer. Get slaying_.

Metaphorically, anyway.

"So," she said, rather too loud and breezy, "how long do you think until we find out whether the apocalypse is on hold or not?"

He'd been drumming his fingers on his knee, the only sign of his impatience with their slow progress (which again, not the Spike she remembered, who would have been climbing the walls by now). He stopped when she spoke and turned to her with the bland look back on his face. 

She'd gotten to hate that look in the past few days. It was like he was being polite to an annoying stranger who he couldn't wait to ditch.

"We should know one way or the other soon enough, I imagine," he said. "If the harbingers stop manifesting..."

"Yeah," she interrupted. "Harbingers, huh? Don't you just hate those guys?" 

He blinked, looking slightly taken aback. Maybe he thought she was already drunk? 

"They can be useful," he said, at last. "No smoke without fire."

_Oh great, let's talk in truisms_.

She resisted drumming her own fingers on her knee, the seat, or anywhere else. Difficult, though. For ten dollars, she would've drummed them on his head.

"Sure," she agreed, still with the obnoxious breeziness. "And you have to see the smoke to know there's a fire, don't you?"

"Er...yes. Exactly."

He was definitely wary now. 

_Score one to me_.

"Of course," she said, "it's possible what we've just done won't be enough - the sham marriage, I mean. What then?"

His face closed up again at once. 

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Had someone written him a script? They might as well have done.

Either way, she wasn't going to let him stonewall her again. 

She fixed him with her best I'm-the-Slayer-don't-mess-with-me look. _Hey, it works on prime ministers and presidents. It'll for sure work on kings too_. 

"Well, I think we should at least talk about it."

He gave her a considering look. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision.

"Fine, we'll talk about it. After the party."

She resisted huffing through her nose. Not what she wanted, but better than nothing.

"I'll hold you to that."

As she was speaking, a cop car drew up alongside them. The officer in the front passenger seat had wound down his window and was speaking to their driver. After a moment, Buffy saw him nod, then roll up his window again.

A moment later, flashing blue light bathed the interior of the limousine. Then the cop car drew in front of them, and almost like magic, they were moving. No stop and start this time. Instead, the traffic pulled over to let them pass.

Spike pressed a button in the arm of his seat.

"That took long enough." 

"What.." Buffy began. Then, as the driver's voice filtered into her ears, she realised he hadn't been speaking to her. 

"Sorry, your majesty," the driver said. "I'll have a word with the Commissioner."

"You do that," Spike said, in the sort of voice that suggested he didn't expect this to happen again, and if it did, the driver would go the way of Anton and the others.

More of that controlling through fear crap.

Not that it was crap, now she thought about it. In fact, it wasn't that much different from what she did herself.

Except that with King Spike, sometimes - not always, but sometimes - the vamps got to live.

She eyed him as the limousine drew up outside the Walsingham. 

_What the hell are you doing? What the hell have you done?_

But his expression had gone all bland again. Out of her reach. Untouchable. 

Yeah, she thought, as he gestured for her to precede him from the limo, that's what you think. 

Two more limos had drawn up behind hers. Dawn bounced out of the first, followed by Giles, Willow and Xander.

The other was full of bitty Slayers.

Party time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence in this chapter.

"This champagne is amazing!" Dawn took another gulp from her glass. "Like this place, which is...wow! Just wow!"

Her eyes tracked around the Walsingham's salon (that's what the guy on the front desk had called it), which had a ceiling so high Buffy wouldn't have been surprised to see clouds floating up there, and so crusted in fancy plasterwork, it was a wonder it didn't collapse under the weight.

"Look at this carpet," Dawn enthused. "You can practically swim in it."

"Uh-huh." Buffy had been trying to keep an eye on Spike. The two of them had made a kind of progress around the room earlier on, greeting all the wedding guests, thanking them for their good wishes, and so on. Now, there was no sign of him.

Some of those guests Buffy had recognised. And not because she knew them. She'd seen them on TV, or read about them in some magazine. Some of the bitty Slayers had gotten all excited when one guy with long hair and a furious expression had kind of stormed into the room. Seems he was lead singer in a band Buffy had never heard of, but which were, apparently, the coolest thing ever. 

One thing about these guests, though. They were all human. 

Where had the vamps gotten to?

Apart from Spike, there'd been none in evidence, except for some flunkey in a dark suit who'd stood at Spike's shoulder and relieved him of any cards or gifts that were pressed into his hands by well-wishers.

Okay, so Buffy hadn't really wanted to share a room with a bunch of vamps she wasn't allowed to slay, but...where were they all? 

And that included Spike and his minion, who'd done the disappearing act some while ago.

So much for vamp/human togetherness.

If she were a world-destroying monster, Buffy thought, she wouldn't believe in it either.

"This place is majorly weird," Willow said, right in her ear. "For starters, it's bigger inside than outside." 

Buffy jumped a mile. With a huge effort, she managed not to go into a full-on fighting stance, fists raised, roundhouse kick at the ready. "Don't do that, Will." 

"Sorry." Willow didn't look sorry. More like tipsy. "Boy, you're tense."

Buffy glared at her. "Do you blame me? We're in a strange place - which, yes, is definitely weird, like you said - full of vampires, and there's no sign of any of them."

"There isn't?" Willow gazed around the room, emptying her glass as she did so. "So there isn't. This champagne's incredible, by the way." 

"People keep saying that."

Buffy had put down her own glass almost untasted. Maybe she should've told everyone else to stick to orange juice too?

"It's okay, you know," Willow said. "I got the lowdown on this place before we came. Vamps can't attack us here, even if they want to."

Buffy blinked at her. "They can't? How come?"

Willow waved her free hand airily. "It's kind of like neutral territory? Very strong mojo. I don't think even I could countermand it. Not that I'd want to, of course."

"Oh." Buffy let herself relax a little. "That's cool, I guess?"

Willow smiled. "Sure is. Seems like warring groups have used this place as a sort of de-militarized zone for centuries. Ever since the time of Dee and Walsingham."

"Uh-this would be the Walsingham this place is named after, would it?"

It seemed like a safe enough guess.

Willow nodded happily. "That's right. Sir Francis Walsingham, spymaster to Queen Elizabeth the First. Seems he owned this house -or not this exact house, it's been totally rebuilt - but its predecessor. Used it to conduct negotiations with the local demon clans. Which is where Dee came in." 

"Dee?"

"John Dee, the queen's court magician, of course," Willow said, in a patient tone, as if Buffy should have just known.

_Why do people keep doing that?_

"Sounds like you've gone into this a lot," Buffy said.

"Sure." Willow smiled. "Best to be thorough." When Buffy just looked at her, Willow punched her arm playfully. "Hey, we're a team, remember? You're the brawn and I'm the brain." She sucked her fingers. "Ow, muscles."

Buffy laughed. "Sorry." 

It was a relief to know the missing vamps weren't planning a surprise massacre, but it still didn't explain where they'd all gotten to. Maybe, she thought, some exploration was in order?

But Willow had put her arm through Buffy's and drawn her into a corner. "How's it going, then? Are you and Spike gonna do the dirty on your wedding night?"

Buffy gaped, then frowned. _Not just tipsy. She's drunk_.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Dawn was well out of earshot. "Doesn't look like it."

Willow pouted slightly. "Bu-but why not?" She put her hands on her hips in mock anger, and said, rather louder than Buffy was comfortable with, "What'd I say about those vampire issues?"

_Geez, Will, tell everyone, why don't you?_

_Sotto voce_ , Buffy said, "I know what you said. Easier said than done, my friend."

Willow's eyes had strayed away from her, across the room, to where Kennedy was standing, on the fringes of the adoring group of bitty Slayers gathered around the lead singer guy.

Not that Kennedy looked much interested in the guy. More like bored, and miserable.

"I hear you," Willow said, gloomy now.

"Like that, huh?" Buffy grimaced. "Anything I can do to help?"

Willow shook her head. "Nope. Not until she stops being a dumbass."

_Okay, Will, that's your problem right there._

But later for that, Buffy thought. Willow was drunk. Not the time to be having that talk that she and Kennedy needed to have. 

Instead, she guided Willow over to where Dawn was standing, a half-full champagne bottle clutched in one hand. 

"Keep an eye on my little sis, huh, Will? Don't let her do anything stupid."

Buffy caught Dawn's eye as she spoke, indicating Willow. Dawn rolled her eyes and nodded.

Then it was sneak out of the room, in search of Spike and the missing vamps.

*

For such a secretive place, the Walsingham was surprisingly easy to sneak around.

For one thing, not counting the wedding party, there didn't seem to be any guests. For another, the staff were so discreet as to be almost invisible.

Almost, because the concierge at the front desk was still on duty, and only too happy to direct Buffy to the rest rooms, not to mention to pretend he didn't know that was just a cover for the sneaking. But of other staff? Not a sign.

Maybe, Buffy thought, they really _were_ invisible? 

The idea made her uncomfortable, and after that, the sneaking included a lot of looking over her shoulder. There was never anything there, though.

At least, not anything she could see.

First, she tried going up the grand staircase to the second floor. One door opened into a fabulous mirrored ballroom, all plasterwork scrolls and gilding. For a moment, Buffy pictured herself in a fabulous gown - royal blue, Zuhair Murad- to match the fabulous room, gliding up and down the polished floor with her beau's arm around her waist, while an invisible orchestra totally rocked that waltz. 

Inevitably, thoughts of the Sunnydale High Prom came to mind, and her last dance - in fact, her only dance - with Angel. Boy, he'd looked good in a tux, and unlike Spike, he'd had the legs for it.

_And now he's a monk. He wears a dress and Jesus sandals with socks. What a waste._

She shut the ballroom door and moved on. 

There were several rooms further down the corridor set up like conference rooms, with long tables and whiteboards. All were empty. If there were any demon clans negotiating stuff in the Walsingham these days, they weren't doing it right now.

She opened every door that would open, even the linen closet. No sign of anyone, least of all the missing vamps.

Higher floors proved similarly disappointing. Most of the rooms she couldn't check, because they were locked. But if the vamps were hiding in them, they were being very quiet, which wasn't her experience with vamps. The ones she met ran more to shouting and fistfights in bars where they served stinky O Pos and rotgut whisky in filthy glasses. 

Maybe she'd just met the wrong kind of vamps?

The building went all the way up to the tenth floor. Still nothing. Where the hell where they?

She wandered along the thickly carpeted corridor to the end, past a closet full of cleaning materials. Beyond that, there was a fire door, through which she glimpsed a set of concrete stairs.

"Ah, what the hell..."

She shrugged, grabbed the emergency handle and wrenched it upwards, then pushed the door open and went through. 

At once, a strange throbbing noise assaulted her ears. The concrete stairwell echoed with it.

She peered over the banister into the gloom. The noise was coming from some way down. She glanced at her feet and frowned. Something told her this was not the time to be wearing shoes she couldn't run in.

It was a wrench leaving her new Emily Choos behind, but she told herself she'd come back for them later. 

Bare-footed, she crept down the stairs, and the further down she went, the louder the noise became. It sounded like drums beating, but every so often there'd be a different sound, like the roar of people shouting.

Something told her she'd found the missing vamps.

It didn't surprise her at all that the noise seemed to be coming from the basement. What was it with vamps and basements? Even so, when she'd gone as far down as there was to go and peered through the glass panel in the fire door, her jaw dropped in amazement.

She was looking into a cavernous open space, way bigger than the ballroom, but so crowded it was a wonder anyone could breath. 

Then again, they mostly didn't need to.

There was a bar off to one side. She could just make out the glint of bottles and glasses over the milling heads. The throbbing sound was some kind of music, heavy on the drums and bass.

The lighting in the room was dim , but there was enough that she could see the walls were red brick near the ceiling, and undressed stone lower down, with layers of dirt in between. In one patch of bare earth, she was sure she could see something round and white protruding, like a human skull.

It was like someone had built a bar in the middle of an archaeological dig. 

The ceiling was wreathed with cigarette smoke. Every vamp in the room seemed to be smoking. They were all looking in one direction too, and when she craned her head to look that way, she saw a raised circular platform, pinpointed by spotlight. 

There were two half-naked guys - okay, make that half-naked vamps - wrestling on the platform. One guy -a huge bear of a man with a shaved head- had the other in a headlock and was pulling him backwards, inch by inch, until his back was arched at an impossible angle.

Buffy winced. Even through the thick emergency glass, she could see when the guy's spine broke.

The big vamp wasn't finished, though. He grabbed the loser's head and twisted it so hard, he tore it off completely. There was an explosion of dust, and the watching crowd roared its approval.

Buffy felt sick. _Nice subjects you have, Spike._

As she thought it, a flash of white caught her attention. Silence fell on the other side of the door.  
Buffy stared, with her mouth open, as Spike climbed onto the platform. 

Every vamp in the room was staring at him, every one of them silent. The big guy who'd won the fight had gone on his knees at Spike's feet. 

Spike ignored him. He addressed the crowd. Then, he ripped his shirt off.

 _Hallelujah, Summers, there is a God_.

*

Spike still looked great without a shirt, Buffy had to admit. That not-ageing thing had definite advantages. The spotlight bathed the defined contours of his torso as he stepped into it and adopted a fighting crouch.

Did his skin still feel the same, she wondered, as it had ten years ago -silky and smooth, and not very guy-like?

Not human guy-like anyway.

The big, shaven-headed vamp was still on his knees. Spike said something to him and gestured for him to rise. A roar of approval spread from the vamps standing close to the platform, to those further away, travelling across the room like a shockwave after an earthquake.

Then, the foot-stomping began, accompanied by the chanting. "Spike!Spike!Spike!" Over and over, until the word had been repeated often enough to become meaningless.

The big vamp had lumbered to his feet. He addressed Spike, made a placating gesture, but Spike shook his head, and the big vamp reluctantly - very reluctantly, anyone could see - raised his fists to defend himself.

"All that ass-licking won't do you any good, buddy," Buffy muttered. "Only one way this is gonna end. You're going down. Oh yeah."

But as the first flurry of blows were exchanged, she wasn't quite so sure. The big vamp was big - _I mean, really big!_ \- and mean as they come. His first punch connected with Spike's nose and sent blood spraying everywhere.

Not that Spike seemed to care. He only laughed and danced away on the balls of his feet, wiping off the blood with the back of his arm. 

Buffy found herself grinning. Okay, the circs were incredibly unpleasant, even for vamps - like WWF without the silly costumes and the showmanship -but this was the most like himself that Spike had been since she'd first set eyes on him the week before. 

He was in his element. That was plain to anyone.

She watched, ooh-ing and ahh-ing along with the vamps as Spike ran rings around his opponent, putting those centuries of fighting dirty to good use. It wasn't so much a fight, as a display. 

In fact, maybe she was wrong about the showmanship, because what was this if not a lesson in who was toughest?

And when it was over, the big vamp was on his knees again, bruised and bloodied and beaten, holding up one hand to Spike, as if begging for mercy. 

Spike stood over him for a moment. The expression on his face was...

Buffy couldn't put a name to it, except that it was raw, and cold, and mean beyond belief, and made her blood freeze in her veins. 

The room had gone quiet again. Every vamp in it was staring at the two figures on the platform. But Spike had won. What on earth were they waiting for?

Buffy had her answer a moment later, when from somewhere in the crowd a large knife went sailing through the air, hilt-first, to land at Spike's feet with what was probably an almighty clatter. At the same time, the big vamp's pleading hand fell back to his side. His head hung down, hopeless, like a condemned man at his execution.

Which, as it turned out, this pretty much was.

Buffy watched in growing horror and Spike bent to pick up the knife. He sort of smiled at someone in the crowd - whoever had thrown the knife, maybe? - then held it up so everyone could see it. Then he bent, grabbed the big vamp's head by the chin, pulled it back, and cut his throat.

No arterial blood sprayed from the gash. The guy's heart would've had to beat for that to happen. But there was plenty of blood all the same. The crowd howled its approval. 

But Spike wasn't done yet. As the big vamp clutched his throat, Spike threw him down on his back, got astride him, knees on either side of his huge body, and...cut out his heart.

Buffy's gorge rose. She had to look away - take deep breath after deep breath to swallow down her nausea. 

When she made herself look through the glass again, there was nothing left of the big vamp, save a pile of dust, and his shrivelled dead heart, held aloft in Spike's hand. 

Not just held aloft, but paraded around the edge of the platform, along with the bloody knife, while once again, the crowd roared in approval. The stamping and chanting began again, even louder this time. 

Suddenly, Spike threw the heart and the knife into the crowd. There was a mad scramble to retrieve them, and, with his audience distracted, Spike jumped down from the platform and disappeared. 

Buffy sagged against the fire door. She was shaking all over, she realised - as if she'd never seen death before - and she still felt sick to her stomach. 

When Spike had told her back at the TV studio that there wasn't a vamp meaner than him, he hadn't been kidding.

Dawn!

Suddenly, Buffy was desperate to get back to her sister and the others. Vampire issues be damned, she had to get them out of here. 

Anyway, if there was vamp cage fighting or whatever going on in the basement, Willow had been wrong about the Walsingham being a de-militarized zone, so she was probably wrong about that too. 

Buffy took a deep breath. It was a long way back up those stairs. 

But the alternative - going through the fire door and pushing past all those drunk vamps...

Well, the odds weren't good.

Anyway, there were her Emily Choos to think of.

She squared her shoulders and headed towards the stairs. But something - a prickling between her shoulder blades - made her turn around. There was a guy standing on the other side of the fire door.  
A short guy with white hair, no shirt and a bloody nose. He was looking though the glass right at her. 

"Oh, fuck!"

Buffy fled.

*

Buffy grabbed Dawn's arm. "We're leaving. Now."

"Hey, you made me spill my drink." Dawn turned a startled face on Buffy. Champagne was slopping over her hand. She addressed the lead singer guy, who'd been smouldering moodily at her when Buffy approached them. "Give me a minute, okay?"

The singer guy did a sort of pout-y shrug thing, but he nodded, and his eyes followed them as Buffy led Dawn away. Looked like he was smitten. Guys often were.

"What's the matter with you?" Dawn hissed, as they went. "Any minute and he was gonna give me his cellphone number."

Buffy gave the singer guy her best big-sister scowl, and he turned gratifyingly pale. "Didn't realise you were such a fangirl."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "It's not for me. Vondra and Ranjit are the fans, but they're too scared to talk to him. So I said I'd do it."

The two bitty Slayers in question were looking their way, Buffy noticed, with nervous expressions on their faces, as if they realised they were being talked about. She frowned. If they'd been drinking, she and Spike were gonna have words.

But on the phone. Definitely on the phone.

"What's going on?" Dawn had dug her heels into the very expensive carpet. "Tell me right this minute."

Buffy glanced over her shoulder. No so-called vampire kings in sight yet, but there wasn't time for this.

She drew Dawn to one side, and kept her voice low. "What's going on is that you were right all along. Spike's fucked up - possibly crazy. We all need to leave before anything happens."

"Like what?" Dawn frowned. "What did you see? Where have you been anyway?"

This was taking too long. Buffy scanned the crowd, looking for the others. She could see Willow and Xander. Willow looked a little green around the gills, and Xander was holding her upright, but like he didn't want to stand too close in case she barfed all over him. Of Giles, there was no sign.

"Okay, where did Giles go?"

"He complained it was too noisy in here," Dawn said. "I think he said he was going to the library. But I wasn't really listening. And it was kind of noisy."

"Damnit!" Buffy pushed Dawn back into the room. "Get the others together. Ask Kennedy to help you. God knows, she looks miserable enough. She'll be glad to get out of here. Then meet me in the lobby in five. I'll go find Giles."

"But..." Dawn began, but Buffy shook her head.

"Don't argue with me, Dawnie, okay? This is serious. We have to leave. Now."

Dawn looked mutinous for a moment, but then she sighed. "You're the boss."

"I so am."

Buffy left Dawn to do her stuff, and hurried across the lobby in the direction of the library. Knowing her luck, Spike had gifted Giles another bottle of very expensive whisky and Giles, like Willow, was drunk as a skunk.

_Don't be a dumbass, Summers. Giles can hold his drink. He's had enough practice._

She flung the library door open. Giles was standing by the huge fireplace, tumbler of whisky in one hand, leather-bound book in the other. As Buffy entered the room, he laughed. 

"Yes, very amusing."

" _I_ thought so," Spike said. " _There_ you are, Slayer. Been looking for you all over."

Buffy froze on the spot. She took in his immaculate appearance, his neat clothes and hair, his cool as a cucumber attitude. Even his nose looked fine. 

_Maybe there really are two of him?_

She peered closer. Okay, maybe not so much with the nose. If you looked hard, there was a slight just-been-punched look about it, but nothing to speak of. He'd healed real fast.

_Say something, damnit!_

"And I've been looking for you," she said. "I'm afraid we have to be going, Spike. Slayer business, you know?"

"We do?" Giles blinked at her in surprise, then looked at his glass with regret. "Really, Buffy, can't it wait till tomorrow?"

Buffy folded her arms. She gave Spike back look for look. "I'm afraid not. Something's...come up."

"That's a pity," Spike said. "I was hoping we could have that little talk you mentioned earlier, in the limo." When she just frowned -

_Don't rise to the bait, Summers. Don't, okay?_

-he went on, "There's so much I have to tell you." With definite emphasis on 'so much.'

Damnit, she thought. So tempting. "Another time, okay?" she said, with false brightness. "Call me."

He looked grave. "Believe me, it's better now."

Giles's gaze went from one of them to the other. Buffy couldn't see his eyes because of the firelight glinting off his glasses. 

"Surely, Buffy," he said, "there can't be anything that urgent, can there? We've only been away from the school for a few hours, and no crises were pending that I recall -save for the apocalypse, of course."

 _Really not helping, Giles_.

Okay, she thought. _Why_ isn't Giles helping? 

Maybe he thought that if Spike was offering to spill secrets, she should take him up on the offer.  
She scowled. Maybe Giles wasn't wrong.

She addressed Spike, who waited for her answer with that annoying bland expression back on his face.

"All right, but I want your word none of your vamp henchmen, or any other kind of vamp, are gonna come anywhere near my people." _And if you break that promise, I'll dust you, asshole. See if I won't._

"I promise," he said, solemnly. His expression said he knew exactly where she was coming from. 

_I don't get it. I really don't. He loathes them. He wants to kill them all. Why do they let him be king?_

That did it. Giles was right. She had to find out.

"Okay. Giles, tell the others it was a false alarm, will you?"

Giles nodded. 

Spike said to him, "Enjoy the whisky, Rupert, and if any of these books take your fancy, they're yours to keep."

Then he gestured towards the door. "After you, Slayer."

*

"Can I get you another drink?"

Spike stood by a side table, on which sat a crystal decanter full of some brown liquid, and glasses. 

"No, thanks."

"I hope you don't mind if I indulge?"

She watched as he poured himself a drink. It reminded her that he'd been very careful so far not to drink blood anywhere near her. That was new too. The old him hadn't cared at all. In fact, sometimes he'd done it with as much lipsmacking enjoyment as he could, just to gross her out.

They were in the private lounge where they'd met the first time. He sat down on the far side of the mahogany coffee table, sipped his drink, and looked at her, saying nothing. 

_Not gonna make it easy for me, huh? Well, two can play that game_.

"Okay," she said. "What was that all about? And how come this place has vamp cage fighting in the basement? Willow told me it's, like, neutral territory? No one can fight anyone."

"That's true," he said. "But the basement isn't in the building. It's beneath it. Best place for vampires, don't you think?"

_Is that sarcasm?_

"Inside a vacuum cleaner's better."

His eyes were hooded as he took another sip. "We agree on something, then."

_Okay, Mister, you asked for it._

"You really don't like them, do you? Your subjects, I mean. I can see it in your face. Why do they let you boss them around? That big guy didn't even try to fight you at the end there. He let you cut his frickin' heart out."

The memory made her feel a little nauseous. It was an effort to keep her eyes steady on his face.

"Yeah, well," he said, "sometimes you have to throw your weight around. Don't want one of these fuckers getting any funny ideas, do you?"

More stonewalling. 

"That doesn't answer my question," she said."Why are they so damn scared of you?" She leaned forward, fixing him with her best Slayer glare. "Why the _hell_ are you king of the vampires?"

He hesitated. Then he sighed, tipped back his head and drained the contents of his glass. 

"Because I have a soul," he said.

Her jaw dropped. Somehow, it was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

"But...but, don't they hate that?"

He shrugged. "Nothing they can do about it. Unless they get their own souls, and none of them have the balls." His gaze went unfocused for a moment. "Not so far, anyway."

She was still trying to process what he'd said. "Okay, since when does having a soul qualify you to be king of the vampires?"

He gave her a considering look, like he was considering not telling her, or just lying through his teeth. Then, he said, "Since Angel and me got a very powerful mage - a very powerful, now very _dead_ mage - and yes, he was evil - to write us a prophecy saying just that." 

She stared. "You _faked_ a prophecy?"

"We did."

"And the other vamps - the not-soul-having ones - _believed_ it?"

He shrugged. "Vamps are a credulous bunch. But you know that, Slayer. Come across a few vamp messiahs in your time, haven't you?"

She thought of the Master, and that creepy kid. What was his name? Oh yeah, the Anointed One. Destined to leads the vamps into the Promised Land, or some such.

"Sure," she said. "But _all_ of them?"

He gave her a mirthless grin. "Not all of them, but we're working on it."

"We? As in you and Angel?"

"That's right, 'cept he's having this decade off." When she just stared, "It's tiring work, Slayer, being king."

"Angel's having a vacation? As a monk?"

He nodded.

"Sooo, when his vacation's over? What then?"

He shrugged again. "He's king, and I get some well-earned time off."

"Something tells me you won't spend it as a monk." She couldn't imagine it somehow.

"No sodding way," he said, sounding so much like the old Spike that her heart ached for a moment.

 _Forget it, Summers. The past is the past_.

He got up suddenly, crossed to the decanter and poured himself another drink. 

"You're probably still wondering about all this, aren't you?" he said. "The posh hotels, the limos, tossers working for me with stupid names like Anton?"

She couldn't help smiling. "Little bit."

He turned around, glass in hand, looking so grim that the smile slid off her face at once. 

"Vamps may be credulous," he said, "but they're not all stupid. You have to give them a little of what they want, or no chance you'll get what you want from them."

Her jaw dropped again. "The protection racket in Chicago!"

"Exactly," he said. "They were well impressed with that one."

And Beijing? Paris? Cape Town?"

"Beijing and Paris, for sure," he said. "But not Cape Town. That was just a weird business."

"Oh."

Silence fell. She felt a little poleaxed. He sipped his drink - and looked worried. Like he wasn't sure what she might say next.

_Well, I'm not sure either. This is just...I don't know._

"Okay," she said, at last. "What you're telling me is, you and Angel are running a scam on all the other vamps. You've concocted a false prophecy, which they've fallen for, and now you and Angel are kind of interchangeable vamp kings?"

He nodded. "Got it in one, Slayer."

"And the purpose of this gig is to...lower the vamp body count, right?"

He nodded again. "It's the least we can do to help."

A prickle started up at the back of her neck. A sort of heat that flooded through her, like a wave.  
Was this what a hot flush felt like?

_Oh come on, Summers, even you don't think you're that old._

"Are you seriously telling me that you and Angel think you're doing this for me?"

He shook his head. "No, love," -and hadn't she once longed to hear him call her that again?-" We're doin' it for us."

*

He kept blindsiding her. She had to give him that.

"Glad to hear it."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Can't do stuff for other people all the time. Gotta do it for yourself. Because you want to. _You_ taught me that."

"I did?"

He nodded again, but didn't elaborate, so she let it go. Suddenly, the idea of talking about old times with him - reconnecting- didn't seem like such a good one. There'd been so much pain. In fact, the pain had outweighed the pleasure.

Not just with him, but with Angel too.

"'Course," he said, suddenly, still sipping his drink, "it does benefit you. At least, I hope so. Fewer vampires to fight. Especially now-" he hesitated, as if not sure whether to go on, but then said, all in a rush - "now you're my queen."

He gave her a deprecating look. "Sorry. Didn't mean to come over sounding like old Drac there."

"It's okay." The implications of what he'd just said were beginning to sink in. 

Instead of coming on all cocky and spoiling for a fight, from now on the vamps would be on their knees at her feet. 

Sweet. Worth celebrating, even.

"I've changed my mind," she said. "I _would_ like a drink after all."

He picked up the phone. "I'll tell room service to bring up some champagne."

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "It's great and all, but it goes to my head too quick. I'll have scotch. On the rocks."

This took him by surprise. "Are you sure, Slayer, because..."

"I'm all grown up now," she assured him. "It won't be like that time with the kitten poker and the barfing. I promise."

He smiled - a real, genuine smile. Probably his first.

"Got it."

She watched him while he poured her drink. He looked at ease with himself, in a way she hadn't seen since the time he'd first barrelled into Sunnydale with Drusilla. Like he knew who he was, and where he was going. 

Except not evil. 

Or mostly not.

She found she was glad for him. Even (maybe just a bit) glad that he'd changed so much.

Not that it let him off the hook. She'd been owed at least a phonecall, damnit!

He held out her glass. She took it, and he touched his own against it. 

"To the queen of the vampires," he said. "Long may she reign."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she smiled and drank. The whisky was good - peaty and warm, despite the ice. She could see why Giles was so enamoured.

They sat down again. He seemed very relaxed. Maybe he thought the interrogation was over.

_Okay, Summers. Go for it._

"So," she said. "I know it's ancient history and all, but how come you never told me you were back from the dead?"

He paused with his glass half way to his lips, then sighed and set it down on the table.

"Knew you'd get around to it in the end."

"Well, sure," she said. "Not like you were ever gonna."

"No," he admitted. "Still the coward around you, Slayer. Like always."

"Coward?" She made a face at him. "That's not the word I'd use."

_More like total jerk, but whatever._

He grimaced. "I would. Anyway, I've got no excuse. None that'll stand up...well, anywhere." He eyed her across the table. "How much do you know already?"

She made a vague hand gesture. "Not a lot. Just what Andrew told me -" _Plus, I had Willow do some magical snooping, but you don't wanna know about that_ -" that you were alive again and in LA working with Angel at that evil law firm. And yeah, if I ever do see Angel again, I'm still gonna ask him what the hell he was thinking." 

He sort of smirked. "Will you be selling tickets?"

"What?" She mock-scowled at him. "No."

"Pity." He drank more scotch. "'Course, he wouldn't be able to tell you anything, because of his vow of silence."

She shrugged. "That's okay. He just needs to listen."

Their eyes met, and a moment later they were laughing again. It was so easy, she thought. Much easier than before. 

"So," he said, "seems maybe you didn't know that when I first tumbled out of that amulet I was some sort of ghost?"

"No," she lied. "Hadn't heard that one."

"Yeah." He looked gloomy just at the memory. "Not a fun time. For one thing, not being able to touch anything, found myself thinking way too much. Mostly about you. About..." he took a long swallow of his drink..."us. God, Slayer, how the fuck did you ever put up with me?"

"I..." She stared. Yet again, it was the last thing she'd been expecting him to say.

"Anyway, I put on a brave face," he went on, "as you do. Well, as you do if you're me and you're stuck around Angel. But when I got my body back, well..." 

He gave her a helpless look. "I meant to come and find you, but somehow I couldn't make myself do it. I couldn't make myself believe that you'd be glad to see me."

"Spike..." she tried to interrupt again, but he grimaced at her.

"I know you wanna say your piece, Slayer. Let me finish first, yeah? Then the floor's all yours."

"All right." She settled back into the couch. "I'm listening."

"After that, I meant to call you. I told myself that even if I had made your life a misery, you'd stood by me, and you'd want to know that I was alive and doing okay."

"Damn straight," she said.

"But I couldn't make myself do that either. I told myself, I'll make a life for myself first - learn to be all Mr-Swirly-Coat-Hero, like Angel. _Then_ I'd call you. Needless to say, that didn't work out too well."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Dana, huh?"

He nodded. "Then - well, then the brown stuff really hit the fan."

*

Later, she thought she could see why he'd been so stand-offish with Giles on the phone. That was a huge grudge he was still holding.

"'Course," he said, "I understand now why old Rupert said what he said. Serve Angel - well, and me, but mostly Angel - right, for not coming clean about Wolfram & Hart. Trouble is," and his mouth set in a hard line, "wasn't Angel that paid for it. Wes and Charlie were the ones who died."

"I'm sorry," she said. What else was there to say, except the truth? "But it wasn't just Giles's decision - not to help you, I mean. I backed him one hundred per cent." 

He regarded her stone-faced for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Was too late to save Fred anyway. Maybe if we'd called earlier - explained how sick she was..."

She gave him a helpless look. "Maybe."

Into the awkward silence that followed, she said, "Good to know that you didn't deliberately set out to destroy Downtown LA. A lot of our people died that day, mostly running interference for civilians."

He nodded. "I heard." The smile he gave her this time was kind of lop-sided. "When Angel fucks up, he doesn't do it by halves. Not that I'm saying it was all down to him. I signed up for the crazy ride, and so did Wes and the others." 

He looked down at his hands, which still held his empty glass. "Thought that would be the end of us. My second attempt at a glorious, hero's death. Turned out it wasn't so much _The Wild Bunch_ , though. More like _The Great Escape_."

She blinked. "You got away on a motorbike?"

He looked startled, like he hadn't expected her to get the reference. 

_Hey, Mr Fancypants King of the Vampires, I have layers too, you know._

"Um...yeah," he agreed. "After Angel killed the dragon - I helped, but that never gets mentioned- we took Charlie to a hospital - he didn't make it, they told us later- but another demon horde came after us, so we thought, best for everyone if we led them out of town. That's when I stole the motorbike." 

"So, you outran them?"

He nodded. "At least, we thought we did. Later, we realised that when they gave up, they just headed back to LA. Sorry about that, Slayer."

Suddenly, he shot to his feet, and threw his empty glass against the wall. The thick crystal shattered into inch long shards. "Fuck that useless fucking word." 

She'd jumped to her feet when he did, and leapt over the couch back to give herself fighting room. But then he slumped back into his chair and gave her a sheepish look.

"S'okay, Slayer. Really. Bit on edge. Lost it there for a moment."

"You don't say." She waited, watching him settle, before sliding back into her own seat. "What brought that on?"

He gave her that eyebrow-raised, _don't you get it yet?_ look of his.

"Obvious, isn't it?"

She shook her head. "Not to me."

He sighed, passing a hand over his face, like he was tired of talking.

"Sorry," he said, again, making a face, like he hated the taste of the word leaving his mouth. "Word's so bloody inadequate. Soon as I got my soul, I knew that. How could mealy-mouthed apologies ever make up for what I did to you? S'the same now. Angel and me fucked up, and you and yours paid the price. That was when I realised I left it too late. I didn't phone you, an' I didn't phone you. Now, I couldn't."

He sort of sagged into his chair. "Done. Say what you want to me, Slayer. I deserve it. From the one about me doing an Angel and making decisions for you, to the one about being a stupid, bollocking arsehole."

Silence fell. She watched him, took a sip of her scotch, watched him again. He barely moved, slumped into the chair, like all the fight had gone out of him.

No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk about the past, she thought, if this was how it made him feel. 

Suddenly, the whole king of the vampires schtick was understandable. Angel and him, they were still trying to make amends - far away from her - as far away as possible - but still trying.

At last, she broke the silence. "Why did we only hear about you, not about Angel? Until the other day, I thought he was dead."

He came back from his bout of self-loathing - _or self-pity, whi-ich kind of the same thing_ \- and focused on her face.

"Ah, you know Angel. Well," he qualified after a moment, "maybe not as well as you think you do. He takes things to heart, does Angel."

"Oh." After a moment, she said, "You mean he had some kind of breakdown, don't you?"

"Melt down, more like. Could've poured him into a glass and drunk him. Pulled himself together in the end - or sort of -but that's when he started talking about being a monk. Said it was the only way he could be certain he'd never hurt you again."

Ten years ago, she thought, that revelation would've had her either crying her eyes out or so mad with Angel she wanted to kill him. Now... 

"Poor Angel," she said. 

Spike nodded. "'Spect he'll be okay by the time it's his turn. Hope so anyway. Don't fancy this king lark forever." 

Silence fell again. At last, he said, "Are you feeling all right, Slayer?"

She blinked. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Er..." he looked taken aback. "Just thought there'd be more yelling, that's all."

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you. Done my share of shouting - my share of weeping and wailing too - over you two fuck-ups."

He seemed to shrink in on himself a little. "I understand."

And suddenly, just like that, she was mad at him after all.

 _Take a deep breath, Summers_.

*

Somehow or other, she managed to keep her voice calm - even borderline pleasant.

"You know when I said you'd turned into Angel Mark Two?"

He frowned. "Yeah, but..."

She held up her hand. "Ah-ah. My turn to talk, remember?"

For a moment, she thought he might argue, but in the end he just gave her a moody look. Which sort of emphasised her point again, but whatever.

"Was gonna say that I didn't realise how right I was. Get down off that ledge, Spike, okay?"

His frown bit deeper, but then he sort of sagged again. "You're right, of course, Slayer." He glared at the whisky decanter. "Shouldn't drink so much. It only makes me morbid."

"Uh-huh." Or worse, she thought. There'd been whisky on his breath that time in the bathroom that...

That she so wasn't gonna think about. 

She eyed her own glass. Maybe whisky made her morbid too?

"So, anyway," she said. "Yes, I was mad at you for not calling. Then I was mad at you for - as I thought - turning to the dark side again. I'd've been mad at Angel too, if I hadn't thought he was dead. But...water under the bridge, right? Your reasoning might be fucked up - " _like you_ -" but I understand it at last."

He sat up. "You do?"

"Yeah," she said. "You were right about being a coward." 

He sagged again. 

"But I...kind of understand that too. And we're grown-ups now, right? At least, I am. We're over all that...that melodrama?"

Her eyes challenged him. _How about you, Mister?_

He grimaced. "Trying to be. Sort of a work in progress, though."

He indicated the room again, with its antique furniture and priceless Persian carpets. 

"This vamp king gig is part of the process. Vamps are like kids, see? Really nasty, vicious kids. The only way to control them - the only way to keep them down - is to be an adult. An adult they're scared of."

"I get that," she said. And she did, finally. "So that fight in the basement bar..."

"...was me getting down and dirty with the kids," he agreed. "They're gonna have their version of fun whatever happens. I'm there to show them where the boundaries are."

He eyed the whisky decanter, like he was considering pouring himself another, but then frowned and turned his back on it. "Vampires being outed in public has helped, actually. Even the stupidest of them understand they can't do what they like now without being hunted down like rats. Makes 'em easier to control."

So much for the good old days, she thought. And maybe they hadn't been so good anyway.

He was looking at her, like he still thought she might want to yell at him. When she kept quiet, he said, "So, like I said, I'm trying to be the responsible adult to a bunch of irredeemable juvenile delinquents. It seems to be working. Even Angel says I'm more thoughtful -not as obnoxious as I used to be."

This last was said with a lop-sided smile, and she found herself smiling back. 

"Thought you said Angel'd taken a vow of silence?"

The smile spread on his face. "He has. He wrote me a note."

She found herself mentally ticking off the questions he'd answered. Just one left now.

"So, why _did_ you ask me to marry you?"  
He'd just gotten this look on his face like recess was over and it was time to get back to policing the class room, but at least the face he turned on her hadn't gone all blank and distant again.

"Angel and me," he said, "we never meant to keep what we were trying to do a secret from you. It just worked out that way. Too busy, I s'pose, trying to impress the minions and impose our will on them to think about anything else."

"I get that too," she said. Which was true. Setting up the Slayer school had been kind of the same deal, though - thankfully -with a lower mortality rate among the pupils.

"But it's all sorted now," he went on. "So, when this latest apocalypse showed up, it seemed like time to give something back to society."

She narrowed her eyes. "They'll really do what I say?"

He gave her back look for look. "They will if they want to live."

She felt sorry for him again suddenly. What a way to live. Kind of like wearing a hair shirt all the time, only scratchier, and with fangs. 

She picked up her glass and downed the last mouthful. "Guess that brings us back around to where we started, in the limo. What do we do if the sham marriage doesn't qualify with this hell-beast as -" she made air-quotes around the words -"'all the children of men joining together.'"

He frowned. "It should. We'll know soon enough anyway."

She liked the new him, she decided. They could do business together. And maybe more than business. After all, there were those 'vamp issues' of hers to deal with, and he was still a major league hottie.

But before she could say any more, he said, with sudden vehemence,

"I swear to you, Slayer, I never meant more by it than that. Wasn't some ploy to get back in your pants. I'm not...I know you'll find this hard to believe, but even I'm not that crass."

For a moment, she felt a mixture of fury and disappointment. And then resignation. 

That train had pulled out of the station long ago. For all she knew, he didn't even find her attractive any more now she was...

Now she was older. 

_Best to let it go, Summers. And you need all the friends you can get._

She was on the point of saying as much, when the door flew open, and Dawn barged in, past the protesting hench-vamp. 

"Buffy, you have to come now. It's the apocalypse."

*

The first thing that came into her head was, _not now! We haven't even reached first base_.

The second was, _why did I have that damn drink?_

Spike was already on his feet.

"Harbingers?"

Dawn's gaze skimmed over him, like he wasn't really there, before heading back to Buffy.

"Like you wouldn't believe! Rain of blood, fireballs, headless horsemen. You name it. Looks like this world-ending demon'll be here any minute." 

The hench-vamp had muscled into the room behind Dawn, but at her words, his gaze went to Spike and stayed there. 

Was it Buffy's imagination, or did the vamp look kind of...accusing?

That wasn't good. Spike must've been selling this whole 'marrying the Slayer to avert the apocalypse' thing to his subjects big-time.

Even then, not all of them had bought it, judging by the Anton incident.

"Okay," Buffy said, in a loud voice. "Seems like we need to promote this vamp/human togetherness deal a little more aggressively." And she turned to Spike, which would his cue to-

_Yes!_

"Been a while, Slayer," Spike said, "but I think I still know how to get your back."

"Good," she said. "Great." 

The hench-vamp's face cleared. Maybe the thought of violence had cheered him up a little.

Dawn, meanwhile, had gotten this disbelieving look. "If you think you're gonna take on this thing all by yourself, Buffy, you are _crazy_." Her eyes slid reluctantly to include Spike again. "And you, Spike." 

Strongly implied was, _not that I care about you_.

Buffy gave Dawn a warning look. _I know how you feel, but not now, okay?_

"'Course not," she said. "That's what the rest of you are here for, right?"

Dawn looked pleased. "Right." Then her face fell. "Willow's passed out, though. Which is bad. Also, what do we do with the civilians?"

Buffy frowned. Willow being out for the count _was_ bad. Willow was her big gun. Not to mention the only person Dawn would listen to when it came to not incinerating everything.

"Er...black coffee?" It was the only thing she could think of. That was supposed to help with hangovers, right?

Spike addressed Dawn again. "Pardon me for interrupting -" _Yeesh!_ New Spike was still a little hard to take sometimes, which the look on Dawn's face only confirmed -"but black coffee won't make Willow feel better. It'll just make her twitchy." 

He turned on the hench-vamp. "Show Mr Giles where the spell books are. Fetch him any ingredients he needs to cure Ms Rosenberg's hangover. And his own, if necessary. And get a bloody move on."

The hench-vamp sketched a hasty bow. "Right away, your majesty."

As he went, he cast a look back at Spike over his shoulder. His face was a mix of emotions, adoration and loathing very much to the fore.

Dawn noticed it too. 

"This king deal looks like hard work," she said. 

Spike nodded. "Yeah, it is."

They shared a moment, like some sort of bonding thing, and suddenly Dawn was looking at Spike with new respect. 

Buffy seized on it. "Marshal the troops, Dawnie. Whatever happens, Spike and I are gonna need back-up."  
Then she looked down at her clothes. "Damn, I'm not dressed for this."

"You look very nice, though," Spike offered.

"Really?" Then she frowned. "You mean I look like my mom?"

"Er..." Suddenly, he'd gotten this nervous look on his face. "I didn't actually say-"

"It's okay," she said. "I am gonna take it as a compliment this time."

His relief was so obvious, she almost laughed. "Still not great for fighting in."

He looked down at his tux, miraculously un-rumpled. "No." Putting a hand almost on her elbow, but not quite, he ushered her towards the door. "Tell them what you need at the front desk. They can get it for you."

Out in the corridor, he headed in the other direction. 

"Where are you going?"

He grinned at her. "Gonna get changed myself. I suggest we meet on the roof in ten minutes. We need to be outside the Walsingham's magical field, in the open. Somewhere this thing will spot us."

"And the civilians?"

He shrugged. "I don't see why they shouldn't carry on with the party."

Then he was gone, walking fast, with a swirl of hench-vamps collecting behind him. She heard him barking orders, though all she caught was, "...and find me the bloody press officer!"

"Hmm," Dawn said, at her shoulder. "He's kind of cool - you know, for an ex-rapist and murderer?" 

She rolled her eyes. "He's getting there."

As they hurried down the stairs, Dawn went on, "He is still fucked up, though?"

But it was more of a question this time. _Is he, or isn't he?_

"Oh yeah," Buffy said. "Fucked up like you wouldn't believe."

Kennedy was waiting for them in the lobby. She still looked depressed, but no longer like she might die of boredom. 

"What's the situation?" Buffy asked her. 

Kennedy indicated the state room, from which the sounds of music and laughter still issued. "Civilians are all in there still. The younger trainee Slayers are guarding them, but, like, you know, unobtrusively?"

"And the older ones?"

Kennedy grinned. "Tooling up, even as we speak. Come on." 

She led the way across the lobby, past the front desk where the unflappable concierge just nodded at them, down a corridor past the rest rooms, and into a huge cavern of a space, which gave the weird impression of being bigger than the entire building. 

Buffy gaped up at the ceiling, which seemed miles away. And the walls, which also went on for miles, and which were adorned with what looked like every weapon known to man, and then some.

"Hey, Buf."

Xander was standing nearby, holding a flame thrower.

"Cool, huh?"

Buffy nodded. "Very."

Xander sketched her a jaunty half-salute.

"Here." Kennedy threw her a pile of black clothes. "Try these on for size." 


	4. Chapter 4

"We look like an army."

Buffy looked from one bitty Slayer to another, then at Dawn and Xander. Everyone was dressed alike in black combat pants and flak jackets. All were armed to the teeth.

After all, it wasn't some vamp they were facing, but a genuine, bona fide hellbeast, intent on ending the world in a fiery ball of chaos. If one weapon didn't kill it, maybe another one would.

Or maybe not. Could be that something more mystical was needed. Which reminded her...

"Meet me by the elevators," Buffy told Kennedy. "Xander and me'll go check on Willow."

Kennedy just gave her a look. "Sure. And while you're about it, pull her head out of her ass, will you?"

"Er..." Buffy watched Kennedy do a smart heel-turn, like a real soldier, and tell the bitty Slayers to 'head out.' Maybe it was best not to say anything.

"You shouldn't have told Ken we look like an army," Dawn hissed in her ear. "It's gone straight to her head."

"What is with those two anyway?" Buffy asked, as they headed back down the corridor towards the library. "Willow's pretty clear it's Kennedy's fault, whatever it is, but I don't think Kennedy agrees."

Dawn grimaced. "They have this thing. Willow didn't stop talking about it for the whole of our trip. Not even in the dimension without shrimp. I'm trying to be neutral, okay?"

"Thing?" 

But Dawn shook her head. "They have to work it out for themselves."

Buffy frowned. No way she was letting that stand. "You're telling me later." 

She opened the library door, but then staggered back, choking. "Hoo-boy! what is that smell?"

From inside the room, Giles's voice called, "That would be hair of the dog. Literally, in this case."

Buffy risked a peek inside. Giles was standing near the fireplace, arms raised, mid-conjure. A huge blaze was roaring up the chimney, the flames a sickly greenish-yellow. Dark smoke wreathed the ceiling. The horrible smell was everywhere. 

Spike's hench-vamp, looking nauseous, like he'd drunk some bad blood, was standing nearby, holding an old-fashioned fan, and wafting the stinky smoke towards Willow, who lay groaning on the couch.

"Ooh, my head!" she wailed.

"Just keep breathing," Giles snapped at her, not at all sympathetic. "And you -" addressing the hench-vamp -"don't stop fanning."

The hench-vamp looked all kinds of conflicted, but he did what he was told. 

"It's okay." Buffy marched up to him and tore the fan from his hand. "I'll do that. You can go help his majesty. Tell him I sent you."

The hench-vamp gave her a look like the one he'd given Spike, though with less of the adoration, and a lot more of the loathing. Then he bowed, and hurried from the room.

"Whatever you say, my queen."

Buffy kept wafting the smoke towards Willow until the door shut behind him. Then, she let the grin she'd been suppressing slide into place.

"Yes!" She punched the air. "Did you hear that? I'm his queen."

"Awesome!" Xander's face split into an answering grin. He held up his hand, palm outwards. "Gimme five, Buf. Only not too hard," he said, hastily, as Buffy aimed her hand at his.

"Sorry!" Buffy peddled back on the Slayer strength just before their palms collided. 

"Weird," was all Dawn said.

"Yes," Giles agreed, still in the same snappish tone. "Very odd indeed. Are you feeling any better, Willow, because this really is very unpleasant?"

Willow just groaned.

Buffy had the impression Giles was vastly irritated to have been jolted out of his nice cosy evening in front of the fire, with a book and his favourite tipple. Any minute now, he'd be complaining about the lack of consideration on the part of certain hellbeasts.

Sure enough, "Bloody thing might have waited till tomorrow," Giles growled. "Then there'd be no need for this...this..." He indicated the smoke and the fanning, looking sour and out of sorts.

Buffy gave him a fond look. Yeah, crusty and upset by change. Giles really was getting old. 

"How're you doing, Will?" she asked, after a while. There hadn't been any groaning for a whole minute at least.

"Okay," Willow said. Her voice was wobbly, and she still looked a little green, but she managed to pull herself upright and give Buffy a shaky grin. "Hey, Dawnie."

Dawn huffed. "Some role model you are."

Willow looked stricken. "Bad me. I'm so sorry."

"Yes, yes," Giles interrupted. "I'm sure we've all done the same at some point. That will be enough fanning, Buffy, if you please." He turned to the fire, and declaimed, " _Exstingue_."

At once, the fire flickered, and began to die down, while the smoke clouds thinned and dispersed, along with the stench. 

"So, what's the sitch, bitch?" Willow sing-songed, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry. Think I'm still a little drunk."

Buffy opened her mouth to explain, but Dawn was there first.

"The sham marriage thing hasn't worked. The apocalypse is still on schedule. We're gonna go up on the roof - us and Spike's vamps - and impress the world-destroying demon with our united stand. Maybe it'll just cave."

Willow eyed the crossbow Dawn was holding. "Hope you've got the safety on that thing, Dawnie, and yeah, maybe it will." She didn't sound like she believed it, though.

"Very unlikely," Giles muttered. "I always knew this ridiculous charade was a big mistake."

Willow gave Buffy a look, as if to say, _I agree_. 

The subtext, Buffy supposed, was that she'd been meant to make it not a charade. Well, tough. 

Right now, what with the 'thing' with Kennedy, she wasn't sure how much relationship advice from Willow was worth anyway.

"Either way," she said, " we should motor. The others are waiting for us."

Willow held out her hand. "Help me up?"

Buffy grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. "Get it together, Will. This could be a bad one."

Willow only rolled her eyes. "Aren't they all?"

*

The elevator only held six people at a time. Kennedy gave Willow a withering look.

"We'll take the stairs," she said.

The fire door swung violently to and fro in her wake, as she shooed her squad of bitty Slayers through it. Their boots clattered loud on the concrete.

Willow frowned, then sort of slumped, looking miserable. Not a good sign. 

The elevator doors swished open, and Buffy bundled Willow inside. She backed her into a corner. 

"Okay, just what is going on with you two?"

At once, Willow had gotten that stubborn look on her face, than which there was nothing more stubborn on earth, and most likely any other plane of existence.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Buffy glanced over her shoulder, at Xander and Giles, who were looking anywhere but their way, and at Dawn, who just looked bored. 

"We're about to go into the biggest fight of our life since the last one, Will. I don't want you all distracted because you've fallen out with your honey."

The stubborn look only got stubborner.

"I have not fallen out with her. _She's_ fallen out with _me_."

Behind them, Dawn snorted, in a way that clearly said, "Yeah, right," and the look turned a little defensive. 

" _She's_ the one who won't admit she's wrong. Even though she totally is. If we're gonna have a baby, of course I should be the birth mom. I mean, it only makes sense, right? I'm way more nurturing than she is."

"Er..." Buffy stared at her. She glanced at the others again, in time to catch Dawn rolling her eyes, Xander taking great interest in the elevator ceiling, and Giles muttering, quite audibly, "Oh, dear lord!" and reaching for his handkerchief and glasses.

"Giles!" Buffy snapped. "Not the time." 

Just at that moment, the elevator juddered to a halt, and the door swung open on the hushed tenth floor corridor. 

"What kept you?" Kennedy said. "Vamps're waiting for us by the door to the roof terrace." 

She fell into step behind Buffy, still studiously ignoring Willow. "Looks like it's hell out there."

The atmosphere wasn't too great inside either, Buffy thought. Right now, fighting a world destroying hellbeast seemed preferable.

But when she stepped out onto the terrace, she changed her mind. It really did look like hell. Except that she'd always thought of hell as a fiery pit in the earth, and this was more like a fiery hole in the heavens. 

As she watched, a fireball about the size of her head whizzed past and smacked into the side of a nearby building. Also, were those dark, spiky things with way too many teeth clouds, or were they some sort of shadow demon?

She dodged as a fiery arrow hit the terrace nearby. _Shadow demons. Check_.

Damn harbingers!

"This doesn't look good." Spike's voice in her ear, shouting to be heard above the noise of the storm.  
His hench-vamps were cowering in the shelter of the building - not that Buffy could blame them. This was no place for the flammable - but Spike himself looked to be in his element again. 

His white hair stood up in a shock on his head, full of static. He was wearing black jeans and a black tee -  
- _and damnit, Summers, he still looks good in that duster._

"Gone for the retro look, huh?" she said. 

He grinned, like he was enjoying himself enormously. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

She gestured at the chaos overhead. "How do you wanna play this?"

He eyed the shadow demons with their fiery arrows. "Dunno. Fight fire with fire, maybe? Either way, it's too hot for comfort out there for my lot. You deal with this bunch, and if anything you can punch, kick or bite turns up, leave it to us."

"You got it."

Buffy waved her people forward, as Spike retreated to bark orders at his. 

"Take 'em down, Xander."

Xander fetched her another salute. "Yes, ma'am, Slayer, ma'am." He aimed the flamethrower at the shadow demons and let rip.

Liquid flame sprayed across the lowering clouds, which began to boil and bubble. A moment later, they were glowing a fiery red. A moment after that, they burst into flames. 

Flames, which the shadow demons gathered up in great handfuls and shaped into yet more arrows.

"Damnit!" Xander turned off the flame and stepped back. "Maybe not such a good idea."

"Agreed." Buffy jumped back, pulling Xander with her, as more fiery arrows rained down.  
And was it her imagination, or were the shadow demons laughing?

_Assholes!_

"This is no good," she said. "We'd be better off with a water cannon."

"Yeah," Dawn said. "This sucks. All that time wasted learning to be a pyromancer, now I don't even get to use my mad skillz." 

"Or maybe you do," Willow cut in. "Giles, help me conjure Neptune's Fury."

"What?" Giles looked aghast. "I hope you know what you're doing, Willow. That spell could have disastrous consequences if you're not careful."

Willow pouted. "'Course I know. This'll be very focused. Okay, let's chant. One...two...three..."

"Oh dear lord!" Giles muttered again, but he began chanting dutifully.

"Get a bloody move on!" Spike's voice, from out of the thunder. Buffy looked over where he was standing, hench-vamps around him in a sullen huddle. Was it Buffy's imagination, or were they looking more and more mutinous.

_Gotta do something to impress them, damn quick._

The chanting stopped suddenly. 

"Go for it, Xan." Willow indicated the flame thrower.

Xander frowned, then shrugged. He directed the flamethrower at the shadow demons again, but this time, instead of flame, a jet of water shot out of the nozzle, so strong that the recoil almost sent Xander flying backwards. Buffy caught him just in time, and between them they directed the spray at the sky.

A shower of fiery embers fell all around them.

"Your turn, Dawnie," Willow called.

*

"Here goes nothing." Dawn stepped forward, raised her arms and began to chant in some weird language that sent chills down Buffy's spine and raised the hair on her nape.

"Batten down the hatches!" Xander yelled at Buffy, over the sound of gushing water and hissing steam.  
The terrace was littered with fireballs, turning to charcoal as they sputtered and died in puddles.

"Yeah." It was hard to keep her mind on the task of taking down shadow demons when the tattoos wreathing Dawn's upper arms were writhing and twisting, like smoke. The fate of the school cat kept coming to mind.

"Oh boy," Xander said. "Will you look at that?"

"I'm looking, I'm looking." 

Buffy gazed in wonder as the whorls of tattoo-smoke, instead of bursting into flame, like usual, turned into graceful, whirling waterspouts - waterspouts that spun upwards, faster and faster, growing into huge tornadoes of water that scattered shadow demons left and right, carrying them off into the sky.  
Then they were gone, back into the fiery hole that spawned them.

"Holy fuck," Dawn said, in a flat voice. She was staring at her arms as if she'd never seen them before. "Had no idea I could do that."

Willow put her arms around Dawn's waist and hugged her. "Silly you. What'd I say about elemental magic?"

Dawn's eyes widened. "Of course. I forgot. The four classical elements are all connected. If you can control one..." 

"...you can control the others," Willow finished for her. They grinned at each other. 

Xander had turned off the flamethrower. An ominous silence fell, except for...

Buffy stared. Was that a helicopter? 

She ran to the edge of the parapet and looked over. There it was, hovering at a safe distance from the action - if there could be such a thing with the apocalypse imminent. On its side, the helicopter bore the logo _News International_. Some guy was sitting in the open door, pointing a camera right at her.

"What the..."

Buffy marched across the roof to where Spike stood, surrounded by his hench-vamps. They gave way before her, looking scared out of their wits, which gave her some idea what her face must look like. Spike seemed a little nervous too.

"Something wrong, Slayer?"

"You called the _press?_ "

"Oh," he said. "That. 'Course I did. No such thing as bad publicity, is there?"

She glared. "They're civilians in the line of fire."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "It's the apocalypse. _All_ civilians are in the line of fire. Speaking of which, here comes the second wave."

Buffy turned, just as a horrible sound, like a thousand hyenas laughing, filled her ears. 

"Uh-oh. That looks bad."

From the rent in the sky, an army of flying things was hurtling their way, all gibbering and whooping and waving weapons. As they drew nearer - which didn't take long - you could see their nasty pointy tusks and green scaly skin. 

"Right." From somewhere inside his duster Spike drew a big, shiny sword. He shook his head, and suddenly Buffy was looking at a monster, yellow-eyes, lumpy forehead. His mouth opened in a fangy grin. "Looks like it's our turn."

He turned on his hench-vamps. "Any of you lot feel like killin' something?"

At once, faces both handsome and ugly turned bat-like and mean. The hench-vamps roared their approval.

"Hey, not letting you have all the fun!"

Buffy signalled to Kennedy, who nodded and led the Slayers forward. Xander, meanwhile, stood guard in front of Willow, Dawn and Giles, who were cooking up some new mojo between them. 

Buffy couldn't help the feeling of satisfaction as she drew her own weapon and leapt to meet the first flying lizard demon. They were a team, damnit. A good one.

After that, things narrowed down to the usual stab-behead-move-on that fights usually narrowed down to, except that the number of opponents seemed never ending. The roof terrace grew slippery with blood - mostly gloopy, green demon blood, which was good, but there was some human (or possibly vamp) red mixed up with it.

Buffy ducked as a barbed sword swung way too close above her head, then stabbed upwards into demon guts. A veined wing, like a bat's but huge, shaved past her face, and a lizard-y tail took her knees out from under her. She fell, with the demon's dead body on top of her.

"Eww!" She tried to kick the thing away, but she couldn't get leverage.

"Buffy!" Kennedy's voice called from across the roof. "Where the fuck are you?"

"Down here!" She raised her arm to protect her head as a vamp, its fangs buried in a lizard demon's neck, nearly stomped on her.

"Watch what you're doing. Bloody idiot." 

A cold hand grabbed hold of Buffy's arm and hauled her out from under. 

"Lying down on the job, Slayer?" Spike gave her another fangy grin. "That's not like the woman I remember."

"Yeah, yeah." 

A moment later, they were fighting back to back, while the battle ebbed and flowed all around them. Balls of werelight zinged overhead, courtesy of Willow and Dawn. 

Buffy saw Kennedy take a hit, and retire from the battle with her arm dangling at an impossible angle. No time to see how Willow reacted to that. No time for anything, except slash, hack, destroy. 

But - strange to say - she was having fun. The most fun she'd had with Spike since...well, maybe ever. There'd been times back in Sunnydale, in the old days, when he'd had her back, sure, but this was different. They were so well-matched, it was like he was her shadow. 

Or her dance-partner.

And the number of lizard demons was fewer. Their corpses were piled up in heaps. Vamps were tearing them limb from limb, Slayers were gutting them like chickens.

At last, silence fell, except for the ever-present sound of the helicopter.

"Heads up, Slayer," Spike said. "Time for the main event."

*

As if conjured by his words, a scaly hand with long, pointed nails appeared in the rift in the clouds. It seized hold of one cloud, like it had substance, and began to lever itself out of the hole. The body that followed was...hard to get a bead on.

If you squinted, it seemed vaguely man-like, but from other angles, it looked more like an octopus, or a giant squid.

Tentacles were definitely involved somewhere.

And it was huge. More and more of its body slid out of the rift, but there still seemed no end of it.

"So this is it, then," Spike said. His voice was shockingly loud in the after-battle lull. "The apocalypse."

"Yeah." Buffy was counting on her fingers. "I think this'll make my twentieth."

Spike laughed. "Like bloody buses, aren't they?" He tilted his head. "What's up with it, d'you s'pose? Seems a bit hesitant for a world-destroying hellbeast."

"Huh. How about that?" 

Maybe it was Willow, Buffy thought. She'd seen similar beasties - okay, maybe not quite so big - turn tail - if they had tails - and make like Usain Bolt at the very sight of Willow. But the scary witch in question had her back to the action - probably dealing with Kennedy's broken arm - and the giant-man-squid-thing wasn't looking her way anyway.

At least, Buffy didn't think it was. Hard to tell with all those tentacles around what might possibly be its eyes. 

But no. It wasn't looking at Willow. More like at her and Spike. 

That was the moment she realised that Spike and she were holding hands. When the hell that had happened, she had no idea, but the hellbeast seemed pretty fixated on it.

Buffy looked around the terrace at their battered forces. Slayers and vamps had gotten mixed up together during the battle, and though they weren't exactly slapping each other on the back like best pals, they weren't trying to kill each other either. She even saw one vamp haul a fallen Slayer to her feet, and sort of nod in acknowledgement when she gave him a frosty thank you. 

Buffy looked at the hellbeast again. It was leaning its elbows or nearest equivalent on the edge of the rift, staring down, as if it wasn't sure whether or not to climb out any further. 

She turned to Spike, who looked back at her with laughing eyes and a big grin on his face.

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Slayer?"

"Ah, shut up!" she growled. Then, she grabbed his head, surged upwards and kissed him hard on the lips.  
His mouth opened in surprise, and she darted her tongue inside it. 

_He hasn't been smoking, thank fuck. I can deal with the taste of whisky._

She took her time exploring the inside of his mouth, and then he returned the favour. He was still a great kisser. His hand, meanwhile, was going on a little journey of exploration, down her back, drifting past her hips, then stopping short just before it got too personal.

"God, Slayer," his breathed in her ear. "I love you. Love you so fucking much." 

Somehow, she wasn't sure how, he managed to go on kissing her while he said it.

Her heart leapt in her chest at the words, which he totally must have felt, because he froze suddenly.

"That is...I mean..."

She captured his mouth again. "Don't remember saying you could stop."

There was a sound in her ears - two sounds, in fact. It took her a moment to focus on anything beyond Spike's mouth and the way certain parts of him were moulded to certain parts of her, but after a while, she realised it was cheering.

Oh, and that damn helicopter had come an awful lot closer.

"What the hell...?"

She tore her mouth away from Spike's and looked up into the glare of the helicopter running lights. It was side on to them, just feet away on the far side of the parapet. 

"Thanks, your majesties," the guy with the camera called. "Got some great shots there. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

The helicopter began to move away. "Oh yeah," the guy called. "Thanks for saving the world too. Bloody brilliant."

"Looks like we finally convinced the sodding thing." Spike still had his arm around her. He pointed up into the sky, which was just like any other London sky at night - kind of hazy and starless, and threatening rain.

Of the hellbeast and its harbingers, there was no sign - except for the demon corpses scattered around the roof terrace, of course, but Buffy had a feeling the Walsingham employed a first rate clean-up team. 

The cheering had been her own people and...well, not-people, all of whom looked glad to be able to retreat to their own sides of the roof now the danger was over and just eye each other with barely concealed hostility once more. 

Buffy turned back to Spike. "Did you mean it?"

For a moment, the blank, bland look almost slid back into place, but then he gave her a rueful nod. 

"'Course I bloody meant it. You're the one, Buffy. Told you that ten years back. Nothing's gonna change that."

"But..." she began.

He shook his head. "Later, yeah? That is..." he hesitated -"...if you want there to be a later?"

She nodded. "I do." Then she glared at him. "Don't think you're gonna sidle your way out of this one, mister."

"I wasn't..." he protested, but she'd already turned her back on him. "We should get back to the party."

She didn't wait to see what he did next, just made her way over to where her own people were waiting for her.

Willow and Kennedy were nowhere to be seen, she noted, and Dawn looked awful smug, which was probably a good sign.

"What'd I tell you?" she said to Xander. "Lamest. Apocalypse. Ever."


	5. Chapter 5

"Thank you so much. Good night." Buffy shook the hand of the lead-singer guy, who was the last of their wedding guests to leave. 

"Yes," Spike said, in his King Spike voice. "Thanks for coming. Your last album was great. That one song, _Hole in your heart?_ Loved it."

"Thanks, man." The lead-singer guy's look of bored cynicism dissolved into a sort of sulky pleasure.  
"What's up?" he said in passing, to Vondra and Ranjit, who were hovering near the door as he swept out of the room.

Vondra clutched Ranjit, as both girls sagged against the doorframe. "He spoke to us! He spoke to us!"

"Well, that's made their night," Spike said. 

Buffy noted that the lead-singer guy didn't go without a final yearning look at Dawn, who was on the far side of the room talking to Willow and Kennedy, and had clearly forgotten his existence.

"Excuse me a moment." Buffy made her way across the room, to her sister and the others. Kennedy had her arm in a sling. Her face was pale, but otherwise she looked quite chipper.

Had Willow caved? Buffy could hardly believe it. 

"Hey, Buffy," Willow said. "Some battle, huh?"

Buffy shrugged. "It was okay. As battles go. How're things with you two?"

Willow grinned. She put her arm around Kennedy's waist. "We're fine. In fact, we're just great. Aren't we, sweetie?"

"Sure," Kennedy said, in a pained voice, though whether that was _pain_ pain, or my-girlfriend-can-be-a-pain pain, Buffy wasn't sure. 

Probably a bit of both.

"We solved our problem," Willow said. "So simple, when you think about it. We've decided we're gonna have twins."

"One each," Kennedy clarified, "born as close to each other as we can work it."

"Using the same sperm donor," Willow said. "So they'll be siblings in every way." She kissed Kennedy's cheek. "You have the best ideas sometimes, sweetie."

"Yeah," Kennedy muttered. "Pity I had to almost _die_ before you'd listen to them."

"Oh, phoo!" Willow rubbed her face against Kennedy's shoulder. "You'll be right as rain in a day or so, just you wait and see."

Kennedy opened her mouth to reply, but checked herself. "Whatever. What, say, we call a cab, Will? Dunno about you, but I'm beat. I wanna go home."

Willow gave Kennedy a smouldering look. "Sure. I can help you shower, if you like, what with your bad arm, and stuff." 

Kennedy looked pleased. Her good hand drifted down to squeeze Willow's butt. "I'd like that."

Buffy watched as they drifted away, hand in hand, towards the front desk and the ever-helpful concierge. 

"Think this is gonna work? I mean, once they've had these babies, won't they just get in a pissing contest about who's the best mom, or like that?" 

Dawn pursed her lips. "Willow _does_ need to be best at everything, it's true." She put her arm around Buffy's shoulders. "But you'll be around, _Aunt_ Buffy, to give her a reality check when she needs one."

"Hey." Buffy smiled up at her. "Speak for yourself, _Aunt_ Dawn. You called Willow on it long before I did."

Dawn sighed. "I tried. But she doesn't listen to me- not like she listens to you. She thinks she has to be all surrogate mom and in charge."

"You wait," Buffy assured her. "That'll change when she has her own baby. Bab _ies_ ," she corrected.

"Maybe." Dawn looked sceptical. "Time we were going too, don't you think? Some of us are out on their feet." She nodded towards Giles, who had settled into one of the ornate gilded armchairs, and was fast asleep with his handkerchief over his face. 

Xander looked pretty beat too, but he walked over when he saw them looking his way. 

"So, are we done playing nice with the vamps?"

Buffy glanced at Spike, who was deep in conversation with a hench-vamp - the same one who'd been co-opted into Giles's anti-hangover spell. 

_If this goes on, Summers, you'll even be able to tell one vamp from another._

"Maybe not quite yet," she said. "I'm their queen, don't forget. I can't just kill my own subjects willy-nilly, whenever I want, can I?"

_Or can I? Spike seems okay about doing it._

Xander shook his head. "That's nuts, and you know it, Buf. What about the other stuff we talked about? You know?"

Dawn's eyes narrowed. "What stuff?" She put her hands on her hips. "What does he mean?"

_Time to face the music._

"The stuff is, that I might not be getting a divorce from Spike any time soon, Dawn, okay?"

"Huh." Dawn said. After a moment, she said, "He does seem pretty into you still."

"Maybe." Buffy seized on the opening. "Either way, he and I aren't quite done talking yet. So, all of you go on home, and I'll see you in the morning."

Dawn's eyes slid in Spike's direction. He was alone, standing leaning against the wall, with his hands in his duster pockets, looking so much like the old Spike that for a moment - just for a moment- a chill ran down Buffy's spine. 

Then, he saw them looking. At once, King Spike was back. He snapped his fingers at the hench-vamp (she really should learn his name).

"Have the limos brought around to the front. Her majesty and guests are leaving."

The hench-vamp bowed. "At once, your majesty."

"You're gonna stay?" Dawn said. She didn't sound happy, but she didn't sound hostile either.

"Uh-huh." Buffy nodded. "We still have a few...issues left to sort out."

Dawn grimaced. "Well, okay, but if you're not back by midday tomorrow, I'm setting him on fire whatever. Got that?"

Buffy nodded. "Got it. Take the kids home, Dawnie."

Dawn sort of shuddered all over. Then she began wrangling bitty Slayers.

"Buffy..." Xander put a hand on her arm. "You sure about this?"

Buffy nodded. "I am." She gave him a pleading look. "I need to clear the air between us, Xander, once and for all."

He sighed, and nodded.

Buffy went over to Spike. "I'm staying," she said.

*

"Nice view, isn't it?"

Spike was gazing out the window, into Hyde Park, where leafless trees tossed in the wind.

"It's dark." Buffy drew the velvet drapes across, folded her arms and glared at him.

"You've gone all avoid-y again."

He sighed. "You're right. Been holding this inside for so long, don't even know how to start, Slayer."

"You could start by calling me Buffy." She took his hand in hers and led him back to the couch. He let himself be dragged, but took a seat at the opposite end from her.

"Buffy," he said, as if testing the word. "All right, then."

When he didn't seem inclined to say more, she said, "Everything we were talking about earlier? About how you never called me? I understand, Spike. I do. But you were gonna keep this from me, weren't you? That you still have...feelings for me, I mean? Why would you do that now?"

His hands had gotten restless. In fact, he looked twitchy all over. 

_Too bad, mister. No nicotine hit for you._

"Yes, I was," he said, at last. "I mean, what's the bloody point talking about it? Like I said, I never meant anything by this marriage, except to give you a tactical advantage. Didn't want anything in return."

"Tactical advantage? You mean, the vamps being all torn an' stuff, because I'm their queen but they want to kill me?"

He frowned. "Well - yeah." Suddenly earnest, he leaned forward. "That doesn't mean you can trust them. You understand that, don't you? If they even hesitate for a second to get on their knees to you, kill 'em. And never- _never_ turn your back on them."

She glared at him. "Okay, _okay_. Been doing this slaying stuff a while, you know."

"I know." He still looked worried. "But I don't want something that's supposed to help you getting you killed."

"It won't," she assured him. "But what about you? Sometimes you have to turn your back on them, because you're the king, and they're the minions, and you're front and centre. Aren't you afraid of backstabbers? Literal ones?"

"'Course," he said. "Gotta have eyes in the back of my head, haven't I? Plus, recycle the entourage a lot, so no one gets too cocky."

"Recycle the entourage? Is that how you'd describe what happened to Anton?"

He grimaced. "Should be thankful to the fucker for betraying me really. Sometimes I forget they're not people. But in the end, no matter how good they are at pretending, they always reveal their true colours." His eyes met hers. "You know that, Slayer. From bitter experience."

"That's Buffy. And I know what you're talking about, and can we please not?"

"Maybe we should," he said. "Bet your sister would think so."

"My sister still wanted to set you on fire until this evening. Now she thinks you're 'kind of cool' again."

"Oh," he said. "Well, that's progress, I s'pose."

"And I _don't_ think we need to talk about it. I'm not a victim, and no one - not even you -is ever gonna make me one. As for you, you got your soul back, you died to save the world. Then you were a dumb asshole and didn't call me. Then you grew up. I think we're beyond needing to go there."

He looked stubborn. "Doesn't change the fact that I was wrong to let it slip - about how I feel, I mean. Got carried away, I s'pose, bein' so close to you."

"Just as well," she said, "or we might still be fighting Cthulhu."

She caught his eye, and then they were both laughing again. 

Spike wiped tears from his face. "He was an ugly fucker, wasn't he?"

She nodded. "Oh, boy, yes! Also, imagine waiting however many millennia for your apocalypse to come along, and then flunking your cue."

And they were off again. But this time, when they stopped, she said, "So, why were you wrong? To let it slip, I mean."

He looked hunted a moment, like he hoped she might have forgotten what they'd been talking about. Then, he sighed again.

"For so many reasons, Buffy. First and foremost, because I know you don't feel the same way about me - never did - and I don't want you to feel obligated. But second, even if you did feel the same way, we can't be together."

She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again. They stared at each other. Then, she said, "You're right. We can't."

She got up from the couch and stood facing him. "I can't have the Slayer organisation too closely associated with you. It's too dangerous. In fact -" she frowned as the thought struck her -"if there're any more crazy stunts like the one you pulled in Beijing - any more protection rackets - being your wife would make my position as head of the organisation untenable. Damnit, Spike!"

"Not really," he said, quickly. "I did think of that, believe it or not. If one of my plans to keep the juvenile delinquents happy goes pear-shaped, you call a press conference. Say you're shocked - _shocked_ , I tell you - and you're divorcing me pronto." 

When she just gaped at him, he said, "I can put you in touch with a good PR firm, if you want." 

"Oh, for..." she flung herself down onto the couch again. "Okay, we'll cross that bridge, if, and when we come to it." She eyed him curiously. "Must admit, I'm impressed. That you thought about it, I mean?"

"Grown up now," he said. "Like I told you."

She rubbed her temple, where a headache was beginning to niggle. "So, really, the less we share a continent the better?"

He nodded. "Just as well I'm off to California next week, isn't it?"

She was about to reply, when his cellphone rang. He looked at the display, frowned and clicked the 'on' button.

"What do you want, wanker?"

Oh, she thought. Angel.

*

The change in Spike was instantaneous. No more suave king of the vampires. Instead, he was all spiky and irritable.

"'Course we stopped the apocalypse," he said. "Don't you have a mass to say?"

Buffy craned her head, trying to catch Angel's response, but no luck.

"What do you mean they abolished Vigil? Where's the penance in that?"

"Spike..." Buffy put her hand on his arm, but he scowled and shrugged her off.

"All right, all right. Sorry. Didn't mean to make fun of your vocation. How's Brother Damien doing? He was being a right pain in the arse last time we talked?"

There followed what Buffy supposed had to be monastery gossip, though it gave her the weird impression of listening to a married couple discussing the awful job of one of them.

At last, Spike said, "Yeah, the king stuff isn't going too bad. Lot of good publicity about this apocalypse. My lot were well impressed. Didn't have to kill any of them."

Then he was scowling again. "Of course I warned her. I'm not a bloody idiot, you know. We were just talking about it when you rang." There was a pause, then Spike said, "Yeah, she's still here. If you must know, we're reminiscing about old times."

Another pause, during which Spike's expression changed from irritable, to frowning concern, back to irritable multiple times. "It's okay," he said, at the end. "I'm pretty sure she forgives you."

"Give me the phone!" Buffy held out her hand to him.

He gave her a warning look. "Yes, told her that. Yes, she understands. Angel..." He went silent, rolling his eyes at Buffy, as if to say, _can't get a bloody word in edgewise_. Then he said, "Angel, look, I appreciate you've a lot to say, and none of it's idle chit-chat, but Buffy wants to talk to you." 

Whatever Angel must have said in reply made Spike hold the phone away from his ear. "I'll email you, okay?" he shouted, then thrust the phone at Buffy. "Here."

She took it from him. "Angel? It's me. Buffy."

From the other end, silence. Not even heavy breathing. 

Which, of course, didn't mean Angel wasn't there.

"Angel, listen," she tried again, "Spike's right. Whatever happened ten years ago, it's water under the bridge, okay?"

More silence. Inexplicably, her eyes filled up with tears. "Angel, please. This is dumb. Just say something."

At last, there was a gusty sigh, and Angel's voice, sounding strange, and cracked, and broken. Like he'd gotten out of the habit of using it.

"Hi, Buffy."

"Hi, yourself." She smiled through her tears, very aware of Spike's thoughtful gaze on her face.

But then Angel said, "I'm sorry. I can't...Buffy, I can't do this now. Give the phone back to Spike. Please."

She started to protest, but there was something about Angel's voice - strained, like he was barely holding it together. "Okay, she said, but I'm totally emailing you too. And I expect an answer, mister."

Angel didn't reply, and she handed the phone back to Spike, feeling shaken right to the core. 

"Yeah," Spike was saying. "Yeah, you made her cry, you wanker." More silence, then, "No, she punched me in the face." Spike's tone of irritation mixed with insolence hadn't changed, but there was a strange gentleness underlying it now, which startled her to hear.

"Yes, yes. You were right about the prophecy. In fact, you were right about everything. Yes, I admit it. Don't let it go to your head, wanker." 

The conversation seemed to wind down after that. "See you soon," Spike said, "and tell Connor I'll catch up with him next time I'm in LA."

Then, he hung up. "You all right, Slay...er, Buffy?"

She clasped her hands together to stop them shaking. "He's really sick, isn't he? Who's Connor?"

"He's doing better," Spike said, the gentleness still in his voice. "And next time you see him, he'll explain who Connor is himself. Not my story to tell." 

There was silence for a while. Then she said, "You guys are pretty close, aren't you?"

He looked indignant. "What? No! We're family, that's all. Can't choose your relatives, can you?"

"I guess not." She stifled a yawn with her hand. "One thing I am wondering, when it's Angel's turn to be king, do I have to marry him too?"

She could see him swallowing his angry retort. "S'pose we'll see," he said. "When the time comes. Wanna go to bed, Slayer? It's late. Your room should be..."

She scooted across the couch almost into his lap. "Thought you'd never ask." 

Kissing him the second time was just as good as the first. 

When she let go his mouth at last, he gazed up at her in wonder. "That wasn't...that wasn't what I meant. I wouldn't presume..."

"Well, it is what I meant. And I want you to presume. So presume."

He didn't need much prompting after that. 

"God," he moaned, breath cool on her heated skin. "You're so fucking beautiful, Buffy. I adore you. I worship you."

It certainly felt like it, when his lips seemed desperate to kiss every part of her body, some parts over and over, until she felt molten and wet, and like she might explode any moment. But if she did, that was okay, because she knew he'd put the pieces back together.

It had never been like this, she thought. Not with him. Maybe it couldn't be, until both of them had done some serious growing up. 

Afterwards, they lay in a heap, plastered together by sweat. His head was on her shoulder, hand on her breast.

"Buffy," he said, sounding dazed, like he couldn't believe where he was. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy." 

"That's me."

He raised his head at last and looked at her. White curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat, like little stray half-moons. He gazed at her, lips parted.

"I don't know what to say," he said.

She smiled. "Don't say anything."

*

She woke to the sound of traffic outside the window. The drapes were still closed, and there was a lump under the quilt next to her.

She lay, blinking up at the ceiling and grimacing at the taste of you-didn't-brush-your-teeth-last-night in her mouth. After a while, she sat up. 

"Spike?"

No answer, except for a sleepy grunt from the lump under the quilt. Weird, she thought, how he slept like a human. Was it because of his soul, or were all vamps the same?

Not that she had any intention of finding out. 

She got out of bed, padded over to the window and peered out through a crack in the drapes. Raining again. And broad daylight. Definitely. In fact...

_Ooh, crap!_

She ran to where her clothes lay in a heap on the floor and fumbled her cellphone out of her pants pocket. Eleven forty-five! Christ.

She hit the call button.

"Wassup?" Dawn's voice, sounding as sleepy as Spike's. 

"Dawn, I'm fine. Don't set him on fire, okay?"

"Okay," Dawn said, after a moment, during which Buffy imagined Dawn having her own what-time-is-it-and-how-the-hell-long-have-I-slept-for moment. Then, "When'll you be back."

"Soon," she said. "I promise."

"Wake me when you get here." Dawn's voice cut off abruptly.

Buffy sighed with relief and set the phone down, turned, then jumped almost out of her skin. Spike, stark naked, was standing right behind her.

He backed up in a hurry. "Sorry, love. Didn't mean to startle you."

Buffy had put her hands up to cover herself without thinking. Now, she found herself reluctant to let them drop. 

Especially when he switched on the bedside lamp. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, very aware how fake her smile was.

His shoulders slumped a little. "If it's about last night, I promise I won't talk about it. Especially not to Angel."

Her jaw dropped. "What? Why would you...oh." By this time, she'd taken in the resigned look on his face. "Oh," she said, again. "It's not that, Spike. It's not what you think."

"It's not?" He perked up a little. "Really?"

She shook her head. "Really. I promise you I am not feeling guilty because I'm still in love with Angel but I had sex with you."

His expression turned sheepish. "Am I that transparent?"

"Kinda," she said, at the same time as she thought, they both had their insecurities.

"So what is it, then?" he asked.

"Give me a moment." She grabbed the edge of the quilt, yanked it off the bed and wrapped it around herself. "I don't like being naked."

He sort of pouted. "Dunno why not. You look bloody amazing."

_Huh!_

"No," she said, "I mean, I'm embarrassed being naked around you because...because..."

_Just say it, Summers._

"Because I've gotten older, and you've stayed the same."

His jaw dropped. "You have got to be kidding me!" 

She scowled. "You said I looked like my mom."

He flung his arms wide, which gave her a great view of the effect her nakedness had had on him. "Yes, but I told you that was a compliment. Your mum was a very beautiful woman. Buffy-" he let his arms drop - "mature is not the same as old."

He closed the distance between them and slid his hands inside the quilt. "You're more beautiful than ever. And if you don't know that, just look in a bloody mirror."

Later, as his body moved over hers, cool to hot to steaming, she thought it was true that she wasn't so old. 

But one day she would be.

_Carpe diem, Summers._

They took a long, leisurely bath together afterwards, then a very memorable shower. He looked so good on his knees at her feet with the water streaming over him. 

Finally, room service. Coffee and croissants for her, a white enamel mug for him that he drank with his back to her.

She sighed. Time to get back to the real world.

"So, shall I see you next time you're in London?"

His eyes were warm as he looked at her, but she could see him putting his king of the vampires mask back in place even as he spoke.

"Of course. This suite's at my disposal whenever I'm in town. We can meet here whenever you want."

"And you'll keep in touch?"

"Naturally."

_Naturally._

"Spike," she said. "I know what you've been wanting to ask, and I know you never will. What I said to you in the Hellmouth ten years ago, you were right. I didn't mean it the way you wanted me to mean it. But I did mean it while I was saying it."

He gazed at her, face going from kingly blank, to disappointment, to acceptance, to...an expression she couldn't name.

"And now?"

"Now, I think it was a good thing we've had ten years apart. You needed that time, and I know I sure as hell did. Now, I think a day could come when I'd say it again, and mean it the same way as you. Also, I think that day could come soon."

He stood up straighter. "Don't mind waiting."

She drew a ragged breath. Her hands were shaking again. Did he realise how much it had cost her to say that?

It seemed like he did. Crossing the room, he took her hand in his, turning it so the wedding ring, and that impossible sparkly diamond were uppermost. 

"No promises, Slayer. That's the nature of the beast. But I'll do my best not to let you down again."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. "I know you will. But just so we're clear, if things go bad, I won't hesitate to throw this gazillion dollar diamond in the trash."

He laughed. "Wouldn't expect anything different."

Wrenching the suite door open, he barked at the hench-vamp outside,

"Her majesty's going home. Fetch the limo round."

"Your majesty." The hench-vamp sketched a bow and skeddadled.

"Goodbye, Buffy." Spike raised her hand to his lips. "Give my best to everyone."

*

"So," Giles was polishing hard, "you're not going to be divorcing Spike any time soon, then?"

Buffy shook her head. "Doubtful." _Only if things go seriously out of whack._

"I see." Giles put his glasses back on and glared at her. "Are you sure you've thought this through, Buffy, because I have to say..."

"I have, okay?" she interrupted. "I already told him that if he does anything - anything at all - that might bring the Slayer organisation into disrepute even by association, I'm divorcing his ass and throwing him to the wolves. Or the vamps. Whichever. And no, I won't be taking any money off him, or expensive gifts. Not even shoes."

She patted Giles's shoulder. "It's cool, Giles. Really. I've spent years building this organisation up - _we've_ spent years -" she gazed from Giles, to Xander, to Willow, finally to Dawn -"I'm not gonna jeopardise that."

Four faces - the four she loved most in the world- gazed solemnly back at her. At last, Xander said, 

"It is kind of cool that you're queen of the vampires, Buf. A bit like putting the fox in charge of the hen house."

"It so is," Willow agreed. "I can't wait to see if they'll be all fighty-fight-raar!-oops! then bow while you stake them."

Buffy remembered Spike's words of warning. "If we get to the fighty-fight stage, they won't have time to bow."

Giles, meanwhile, looked a little mollified. "That's true. We should use the...the pause in hostilities to work out more effective strategies for dealing with our enemies when the situation breaks down, as it inevitably will."

Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?"

Giles gave her an exasperated look. "Surely you realise the current _detente_ can't last, Buffy? Spike and Angel have engineered this situation very cleverly, it's true, but it can't go on indefinitely. Just the two of them trying to control the endless hordes of darkness? A charismatic vampire will arise to challenge them one day, their followers will desert them, and that will be that."

Buffy felt the chilling truth of these words, even as she said, "You work that out from one of those books Spike gave you, Giles, huh?"

"No," Giles said, crisply. "But they will come in very useful. I'd thought some of these volumes gone forever in the destruction of the Watchers' Council Library. Spike's given us a very precious gift, though I confess I'm at a loss how it's his to dispose of."

"A mystery for another time, huh?" Willow cut in, glaring at Giles. "Let's not do this now, guys. We just foiled our twentieth apocalypse. We should be giving ourselves a pat on the back, not doom-mongering."

Giles held up his hands. "I've said my piece. If Buffy wishes to continue her relationship with Spike, that's entirely up to her."

Willow nodded. "Damn straight. Hey, Buffy, wanna go shopping with me for baby clothes later?"

Buffy gaped at her. "You're pregnant _already_?"

"Uh-uh." Willow shook her head. "But I like to be prepared. Also, I thought we could, you know, talk about...stuff?"

Her eyes clearly said, _Like, did you guys, you know,_ do _it?_

Buffy smiled. "Tomorrow, Will, I promise you. I'm kind of beat today. Think I'm gonna take a nap."

Willow looked disappointed, so Buffy gave her a slow, deliberate wink. _Yeah, we did it. Vampire issues? What issues?_

Willow's face split into a grin. "I'll hold you to that. Come on, Giles. I'll drop you home."

Buffy saw them to the door. Xander sloped out behind them. He kissed Buffy's cheek.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Buf."

"I hope so too," Buffy said. "Thanks for the support, Xan. I appreciate it."

Xander patted her shoulder. "Ah, it's nothing. Also, I still hate Spike just in case you were wondering."

"Raging hatred, check." 

"There's a stake with him name on it if he hurts you again," Xander called as he went down the stairs.

"Got it," Buffy called after him. 

_S'okay, Xan. Dawn's already on that._

Back inside the apartment, she sank down on the couch with a sigh of relief. It was good to be home.

For now. She had a meeting with Faith in Pittsburgh scheduled for next week. But for now. Home.

And Dawn.

"Here you go." Dawn put a steaming mug into Buffy's hands. "It's alien tea, but Willow says you like that."

"I do." Buffy took a sip, and sighed again as the potent liquid zinged around her body.

"That is _soo_ good!"

"It is," Dawn agreed. "You look happy. I wasn't expecting that."

Buffy met her eyes over the rim of the mug. "I wasn't either, Dawnie, but it's happened."

Dawn's mouth turned down at the corners. "But he _is_ still fucked up, right?"

"Oh, totally."

Dawn nodded in satisfaction. "The setting on fire thing still goes without saying?"

"It does," Buffy agreed.

Dawn sat down on the couch and set her head on Buffy's shoulder. Her spiky hair tickled Buffy's chin. 

"It'll be weird having him back in our lives again."

"It will."

"I've hated him for so long, you know? But I missed him too. I thought he was my friend, and then he just...well, you know."

"I know," Buffy assured her. "If it helps, he felt bad about you even before Sunnydale fell into the Hellmouth. He didn't say so, but I knew."

"It helps," Dawn said. "Maybe I was wrong - about it not making any difference that he got his soul back?"

"Maybe. Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Dawn snuggled closer. "Guess we will. One thing about him hasn't changed, though."

"What's that?"

"He's so into you it's scary. I mean, what is his deal? You're like, a hundred years old. Well," she qualified, "over thirty anyway."

Buffy tugged Dawn's hair. "Well, he's a grown up now. He appreciates a mature woman."

Dawn raised her head so Buffy could see her roll her eyes. "Tell yourself that, Mrs The Bloody."

"Don't call me that!"

They laughed.

THE END


End file.
